Vir Fidem
by nickaroos
Summary: My father insisted I lacked faith. My act to prove him wrong cost me my human life and planned future. Once becoming the monster I had hunted, I rigidly lived my new life by my former human morals. This served me until one Miss Esme Platt. Suddenly what was straight became crooked. Had my father been correct or could prove to be a man of faith and keep her in my life?
1. Reason is Right

My wonderful readers, first, thank you for your patience. Those who read New Sunrise might remember that I hoped to have this first chapter published by the end of April 2018 and instead it was June. During this story my PhD program kicked my behind, but fortunately I passed my comprehensive exams, defended my dissertation, and became a doctor! Secondly, I feel the need to apologise to those of you who read and enjoyed A Little More Heart (ALMH). The amazing kiwihipp, who generously beta'd, read the chapters in ALMH in Carlisle's pov one day asked me if I could write a story set entirely in the past and where Carlisle has even more heart and risks even more. Consequently, much of what was written in Chapter 2-4 of ALMH can be found within the beginning of this story. The tone is different, as this story is entirely set in Carlisle's pov, and I made some modification, since the chapters found in ALMH are Esme's imagination of Carlisle's past rather than how I imagined Carlisle considering himself. I momentarily thought about just referring readers to ALMH, but ultimately decided not to because the themes and tone wouldn't be consistent, two things that matter greatly to me as a writer. Nonetheless, I ask for your forgiveness for using my own work liberally in order to tell a different story. Despite this, I hope that you enjoy watching Carlisle have even more heart **.**

Dedication: This is dedicated to kiwihipp who without remuneration other than a thank you beta'd A Little More Heart and New Sunrise. You have kept me honest as a writer and encouraged me to improve my prose. This is for you.

Title: Vir Fidem

Summary: There are few truly concrete things I remember about my father. One of them was his certainty that I lacked faith. In my youthful ignorance I decided this meant that I lacked the will to blindly accuse others without proof. Consequently, I went out prove to him that I was, in fact, a man of faith, while also refusing to do so by my father's methods. If someone in town were said to be a witch, instead of merely taking the accuser at their word, as he would have, I sought out evidence to support or refute the accusations. This caused the number of burnings to be decreased and my father to be increasingly upset and rigidly point out how I lacked conviction. It was therefore with firm determination that I set out to prove to my father than I could convict and find evil based on evidence and reason, rather than accusation. That choice cost me my human life and planned future. Nevertheless, once becoming the monster I had hunted, I dogmatically set out to live my new life by the morals that had guided me in my human years, including my search for evidence, proof, and truth. This way of seeing the world and living served me well until one Miss Esme Platt came into the hospital with a broken bone. With her what was straight became crooked and what appeared wrong seemed right. In this turmoil that she brought, I was forced to ask myself, at my core was my father right?

Rating: Starts out T, but eventually becomes M (As the later themes and struggles as well as a few scenes in this story are meant for adults, not to mention some of the topics discussed, would not be suitable for most teens, at least in my opinion.)

Disclaimer: I did not create the original characters found in this story, however the plot is entirely mine.

Warning: This story is ultimately meant to be about a man and his relationship with the divine, and how life events impact that relationship. Thus, this story will contain religious themes, including prayer, holy scriptures, and conversations with religious leaders. These references are not intended to offend anyone, promote one religious view, or proselytize in any way. Nor do they necessarily represent my views. Nevertheless, as religion can often be a topic that ignites strong reactions, you are duly warned.

 _Now that is out of the way, please enjoy._

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 **Chapter 1: Reason is Right**

By all accounts I had witnessed the earth move around the sun more than a hundred times when I was told point blank by one of our kind's three kings that human memories were meant to fade and were inferior, just like the species. With respect and humbleness, I disagreed with him, as I believed his argument to be a fallacy, earning the snickers of many in court.

First, the premise lacked concrete evidence. To concur that vampires were physically enhanced in comparison to humans was easily straight forward. We were absolutely faster, stronger, and had more powerful senses. Indisputably, we were more durable and lived longer lives than humans, although no creature truly lives forever. Additionally, for a few with some slightly unusual capacity in their human years upon transformation often manifested into a significant extrasensory power, giving those individuals additional superior skills or capacities. All around, vampires were more powerful than humans. The proof for that conclusion was self-evident.

Where I believed the fallacy arose was the conclusion that because vampires were the more powerful species, that they were consequently the superior species. The definition for superiority was significantly different than for powerful, and to suggest one equalled the other was a basic logical fallacy.

Aro disagreed.

For years after that first debate he and I engaged in debates over the merits of what made something more superior than something else. My premise of superiority was not based on strength or power, but on how such things were used. I easily assented that his coven, the Volturi, who ruled vampires by enforcing the law were superior to other covens based solely on how they conducted themselves. Yes, they consumed human blood, much like other covens did, but that sustenance was what our bodies called for. I was aware, sometimes painfully, how odd my diet of animal blood was for my kind. Despite the fact that they saw humans as nothing more than sustenance and occasional entertainment, they did not kill any of the humans in their city of Volterra and refrained from bringing mothers and children into the castle for the purposes of feeding.

Aro considered these policies nothing more than good common sense. "Ending those that are breeding is simply a poor policy and the young have little in them to be worth the bother," he had stated once almost sounding irritated and as if these were elementary facts not worth a discussion. Although I did not push that aspect of my thoughts further, he would have seen when he touched me that I saw these policies as purposeful decisions that also set the standards for all vampires. Before his decisive brushoff, I had argued that these policies demonstrated the Voturi's potential to do more harm than they choose to do, particularly because they choose to limit themselves when nothing was requiring that they do so.

What spoke even more forcefully to their superiority within our race, I argued, was that they had used their power to create the law of secrecy, which protected both vampires and humans, and used their self-proclaimed leadership of our kind to enforce this law unilaterally. Thus, overall, they had used their power to create a more peaceful society for vampire and human alike. Aro chuckled at this statement each time I brought it up, dismissing it easily, saying that it was simply the best way for our kind, and taking no credit for these accomplishments. His minimalizations of the good he was doing and the fact that they used their power to create peace I attempted to rebut by pointing out how their superiority was shown in the fact that other covens that might wish to govern the vampire world would use their power to create chaos, as, according to the stories, the Romanians had done.

Caius regularly chastised Aro and I for having what he declared to be "a pointless endless conversation" before storming out of the room in a huff. Aro, however, appeared to appreciate our exchanges and nicked name me Stregone Benefico for my insistence that superiority was found in acts that created goodness, kindness, gentleness, peace, patience, joy, faithfulness, and love.

Often Aro would shake his head indulgently, mutter how humans had twisted the words of some crazy Jew, and seemed to seriously contemplate how to have my brainwashing undone. To this, I would simply point out that most religions had similar beliefs asking its followers to strive towards reducing suffering. When I used the very scrolls entombed in his libraries to support my opinion, he would simply chuckle and in an indulgent tone tell me how vampires had no need to follow such human ideas and human religions, because our species was superior.

Pointing out his fallacy in using his postulation to prove his conclusion usually caused him to retort, "My dear Carlisle, how I wish I could have you and Aristotle argue these points." Then he would shake his head and rise, claiming Volturi business.

One time, I mentioned how the Volturi was able to peacefully keep such high numbers of our kind in one place and that surely that showed their benevolence. That statement garnered the only chuckle I ever heard from Marcus in my decades with them, although it was dark and bitter tinged with an almost hatred that I could not discern.

"Yes, brother," he seethed, "certainly Chelsea is a demonstration of our superiority."

Aro looked at Marcus in a sad apologetic manner for a moment before he waved his hand dismissively. "It is a valid point, brother. We have the largest group of our kind in one place. Her limitations demonstrate the error of your thinking most clearly. She merely ensures that we do not lower ourselves to the behaviour of nomads."

"According to you, brother," Marcus snarled, "but how can we be sure, when you are the one wielding her?" At the end of his challenge he drooped as if this outburst had exhausted him.

"Your own gift confirms my words." With a frown and a brief pause he told Marcus, "You are invaluable, and we could not rule as we do without you. Please, brother, let this go, or at least remember how you used to be before Chelsea assisted you."

"Assisted or enslaved, brother?" he asked without any force as if voicing the words were hurtful to him, but there was a cutting tone that hinted at wanting to be more forceful, if he had more strength.

"She gave you back you ability to live," Aro answered sadly.

"Well if binding all in Volturi to you and you alone is benevolence then we are surely superior," he retorted sarcastically before rising and leaving the room in a huff.

The exchange was completely baffling. Chelsea's cloak colour indicated that she was a valuable coven member. Not to mention that I had always found her presence to be enjoyable, as if she brightened the atmosphere and decreased any concerns I might have had before spending time with her. On a few occasions, I had suspected her of having the gift of offering comfort or something similar, but the conversation I had just witnessed seemed to imply that she was capable of more than that.

It was as if I had witnessed a family argument that I was not meant to see. Daring not to move, I waited, as Aro seemed lost in his thoughts. Hours later when he began to notice his surroundings he saw me and smiled a sad smile.

"I'm sorry you witnessed that Benefico. Can I count on your discretion? It is an old argument going back over a thousand years. See, Marcus lost his mate. In his grief he occasionally blames his continued existence on me and my desire for him to be at peace with us here. He will get over it and no doubt in one hundred years we will have the same argument."

"Of course, Aro, you can depend on me to never speak of it again," I vowed. "It is your own business. I only apologise for inadvertently bringing up a sensitive topic."

He nodded contemplatively, tapping the chair. "It is a lot to ask, but I would also appreciate it if you would never utter what he said about Chelsea. Mostly because it is not fair on her and he spoke in anger, but also because Chelsea is very private and would be mortified if others were to learn that she was gifted."

"You have my word, Aro," I swore.

"Good man. Thank you for your discretion. It is most appreciated." Then he waved his hand to dismiss me.

I bowed a little, as I did each time I left his presence, in a manner to convey, as I had been taught, the honour given to kings and rulers.

A few hours later, Chelsea came to see me and we talked. Keeping my word to Aro, I never hinted, even to her, that I had confirmation that she was gifted. I appreciated her company and by the time she had left, I was even more convicted of my belief in the Volturi's superiority and grateful for how Aro managed things.

With more contemplation the conversation I had witnessed deepened my sympathy for Marcus, gave me a new appreciation for Chelsea and her quiet humble manner, and endeared me even greater to Aro. To be king was a heavy burden, and clearly Aro had acted in Marcus' best interest, even though it clearly pained him to have done so. And for him to take such critique undeservingly was admirable, which also increased my opinion of him.

When Aro was indulgent, I would use the Volutri as an example contrasted against those who broke the law as I argued my points, suggesting that it was not that vampires were superior and humans inferior, but that some vampires were more superior through their acts than other vampires and some humans more superior than others for the same reason. After a few years, Aro consented that my argument might be true, but that did not therefore suggest that the two species were cross comparable.

In his view, even the worst vampire was significantly superior to the most superior human. He pointed out how most humans disregarded their instincts, allowing themselves to be led toward being consumed, could not accurately remember the most basic information, allowed others to misuse them, produced offspring that they did not adequately care for, and had unnaturally short lives, often ended through disease, parasites, or the murdering of each other. He would give examples of individuals the human world might have revered or worshiped that had been easily led to the feeding hall and consumed.

"Irrelevant of how they judge one another, ultimately they are nothing more than meals, Benefico. Nothing that they create, nothing that they do can ever compete or compare to being a vampire. I will concede that in comparison to each other, some are more civilized than others. Surely no one would argue that the Greeks and Romans were more refined that the savage Celts of the North, but all have ceased to be. Each human empire I have seen rise has fallen, yet we remain. The words and thoughts of those that past humans worshiped rest within me and these walls. Even if they were not made a meal, they no longer live. Would their life not been better served to sustain us than be wasted in their pointless unlasting pursuits? Do not mistake me, I hold you no ill will in your wish to learn more about them. At one point in my life, I did just that. But learning about the ant does not make it superior. You best remember that."

For reasons unknown, that speech, although similar in many ways to others, stood out. Perhaps it was because of the particular wording, or even the timing, but directly afterwards I walked the castle gardens. As I did so, the irony of his argument only cemented my desire to assist humans improve the qualities of their lives. After that speech I had spent much time, when I was not in the castle or hunting, learning about local herbal remedies and trying new mixtures in my lab that Aro purchased for his amusement and my intrigue.

For more than a year after he had the lab set up, he gained great enjoyment in reading my thoughts watching my experiments. Each time I had succeeded in nothing but causing an explosion he would let go of my hand, shake his head in amusement, and warn me that one of these days I was going to burn my hair or eyebrows and ruin my looks.

By the time I left for the New World we had still not reached an accord, but I had grown restless and was ready to explore more of the world. Decades later, upon reflection, I concluded that our different perspectives were informed by our different inherent inclinations. He seemed destined to ruled our kind, and did so well and benevolently. In comparison, I desired to use my life to heal others. In order to rule as he did and continue his consumption of human blood as he did, there had to be a part of him that saw himself as superior. It was his internal explanation in his right to rule and to sustain himself with human blood.

It took over a hundred years to realize that a root of my perspective in the arguement was that I refused to see Jesus in his human form as less than me, not to mention that to agree with Aro would have meant giving up everything that I had held onto tightly up to that point. We each had too much riding on our opinions to have found true accord, although I continued to miss how he challenged me. As I met other vampires, they often were bemused by me or claimed me insane, but none had really taken me as seriously and engaged in a theological and moral debate as Aro had. I missed it.

At the same time, I could not refute that in many ways, I stood in direct contrast to him. My arguement had insisted that his right to rule was not because he was superior, but in how he conducted himself. The manner in how he did so made him superior. Nevertheless, these assertions also meant that if how he ruled changed, then he would lose his position of superiority. Perhaps this alone was unacceptable to him. The Volturi were truly visionaries, as they seemed to grasp before it was true how poorly the modern human would take to the knowledge of vampires' enhanced capacities in comparison to their own. My gratefulness and the unchanging nature of Aro and the Volturi consumed me as I headed towards the hospital to start my shift.

The time when I would need to move on from this particular location was coming close. Even though changing locations was a necessary part of keeping the secret, while still allowing me to tend to the healing of humans, the first six months grated on me, even more so as the decades had gone by, since it was nearly always an exact replication of the last location. It was if humans had no ability to deviate from each other, despite the disparities of locations and years. The women would swoon in my presence and within a few months one of my fellow doctors would feel the need to tease me about it in a good-natured manner.

At this hospital it had been Dr. Clark who approached me in a joking manner by saying, "You sure do have all the nurses in a tether over your pretty face."

Smiling to hide my irritation of having this conversation once more, I had replied, "My mother is to blame, unfortunately. I was told that she was strikingly beautiful."

Dr. Clark had chuckled appearing gleeful at my reply. "Then certainly some dame has caught you in her web and is attempting to domesticate you?"

"Unfortunately, my mother was also unendingly kind and generous of spirit. Her standards have made it difficult to find someone worth pursuing," I had answered telling a lie, one of the few that I was proud to tell, because it was a lie I had told myself as a human child. It was a lie that had been meant to comfort me when my father had been particularly harsh or when I simply missed her and wanted nothing more than to have a mother. My imagination of whom my mother would have been, if she had not died was more fairy tale than reality, but the lie had soothed my childhood woes and I enjoyed still employing it.

"Well, I shall not be the one to tell the poor nurses here that they do not meet your standards," Dr. Clark had told me smiling as if my words had been a joke. But there seemed to always be some knowing there in the eyes that caused me to feel exposed. It was in that moment when I became nothing more than a man discussing to another man this very human of matter. Time and time again whomever had been brave enough like Dr. Clark appeared to know that my words were a lie in some way, while also knowing that whatever the true reason my single status was of my own choosing.

More often than not, what got transmitted after the conversation was that I was single, which only made the situation worse. Fortunately, for me, Dr. Clark had chosen instead to lie and spread the rumour that "Our dear Doctor Cullen is simply too focused on learning the skills of doctoring to entertain ladies." A few, after that, had pursued me, but his lie had made the process of keeping distance between myself and the nursing staff easier. I had yet to find a way to repay him before he was promoted and we only ever saw each other as I left for my shift and he entered for his. And then only a few words ever passed between us. Still, I wished to find a way to reimburse him.

Despite these and other small irritations from the path I had chosen, I was pleased at how my life had been progressing thus far. My father would, no doubt, be irritated that I hadn't remained on the path of becoming a pastor, but I believed my occupation better suited to me. Hopefully, if given the chance, he would have been impressed that I had become not just a doctor to humans, but a surgeon. It had seemed like an unfeasible task, but with patience, determination, and time, I had managed to achieve what all others of my kind had made into an impossibility. Yet, I could not deny, even with my accomplishments that I missed my conversations with Aro. Of late when I felt this wistfulness I would contemplate what he might say in regards to the possibility that his enforcement of the secret had, in fact, helped fuel the European man's belief in their predestined right to dominate the planet and often other humans.

Since leaving Italy, my intellectual engagements on the topics we had shared had diminished to coded messages sent through messenger on occasion. Each letter was a blessed arrival, no doubt through Demitri's assistance via his gift, but they were not enough. In truth, I missed my friend. Smiling at the thought, I had to admit that I did not miss the human screams that accompanied meal times in the castle, or the ribbing the guard gave me, or how Caius sneered at me, or how I had been tested on my resolve to abstain, I suspected by Caius, in order that I would be "cured" of my strange ways. Nor did I miss the subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways that the single ladies of Volturi had attempted to take me to bed.

When Aro had taken my hand after one such encounter, he smiled wistfully at me. "There is nothing amiss with passing the time in someone's company that wants to enjoy yours," Aro instructed me in an almost paternal manner.

"Certainly you understanding my reservations," I replied keeping my answer vague since we were in the throne room rather than his study.

He waved his hand as if my statement was inconsequential. He frowned, but there was a playful mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh do try my dear Benefico to indulge in something other than knowledge."

Smiling respectfully at him I had changed the topic. Truthfully, their behaviour had been more flattering than the annoyance I felt about the nurses' flirtations. Because the females in Volturra were of my own kind, I was confident that their attraction to me was more due to my character than being a vampire, which I could not discriminate with the nurses. Thus, the nurses falling over themselves to be near me, them paying more attention to me than the patients, and their squabbles that I could not help but hear pushed the limits of my patience. Fortunately, at this location, Dr. Clark's lies had allowed all the hoopla to die down before I had gotten to that point. It was something small, but nevertheless I was not looking forward to having to start that process again at the new location. Each vampire paid some price for keeping the secret. My time in Volturra showed me that the Volturi were no exception.

Although in Volturra there had been a real temptation to say yes to one of the lady's offers, but as I was a guest of Aro's, it seemed rude to do so, not to mention that I did not want to discover the consequences if I were to ever to upset a guard member. Besides my sense of hospitality and honour, there were my own morals that often stopped me. Women were to be respected, their heart not to be trifled with. Then there were my father's reminders that any child out of wedlock would be a bastard and thus a disgrace to our family name that often gave me pause, even if the outcome was no longer possible, based on the lack of children in Volturra and Aro's warning about immortal children.

That was not to say that I agreed with the taboo nature in which the present era and culture where I lived looked at relations between a man and a women. I had a tendency to see it from a scientific and therefore biological perspective. The body was designed to copulate and to find solace and intimacy with another. My desire to have company was acute, especially as the decades had passed since leaving Volturra. What I truly yearned for was my mate, and each time I almost succumbed to the temptation of physical release with another, I would imagine whether my potential action was something I would want to tell her. This reflection had stopped me each time, as I had yet to find a vampire with whom I believed I could be with carnally and then meet again and there be no ill harm wished to me or my future mate. Even though my celibacy might have pleased my father, it created a deepening loneliness. Despite that consequence and others due to keeping the secret, I was overall pleased in how my life had turned out.

Barely starting my shift, I was called into a minor surgery. The young man in question had been impaled. Unfortunately, the removal of the object was bound to create as much damage as when it had gone in, perhaps even more. I overheard many of the nurses and those in the theatre mutter at the unfortunate loss of his leg. The aorta artery had been torn by the rod, while it had also been keeping the blood from spurting. So instead the wound was slightly oozing. Its scent indicated the presence of a high concentration of white blood cells suggesting that an infection might occur if the rod was not promptly taken out. Upon removing the rod, my first call of business was to sew up the artery and stop the bleeding.

It was just the type of medical procedure that allowed me to use my vampire senses to heal and do good in the world. As long as I moved in a human way, I could keep from them how my eyes saw tears and rips that no else would have, or how my sense of smell told me the composition of particles in his blood implied that he was already beginning to heal and no longer in the acute phase. I left the theatre pleased with my work, allowing me a brief reprieve from the quiet desperation that had been my constant companion of late. It was only in the reprieves that work could give me where the usual weight pressing down on me temporarily lightened and I could hope that one day my burden might be no more.

Time would tell, but my prognosis was that he would not lose his leg after all. As I cleaned myself and reviewed the surgery mentally, I chuckled internally at the image of what Caius would have remarked if he had seen me today. The blood covered my gown and had even managed to leave some drops on my face.

Alone in the bathroom locking my muscles in place, I carefully licked a few drops of the blood adhered to me. It was not the first time I had performed such an exercise. I was testing myself, pushing my limits, allowing myself to taste what my body craved, while reminding myself that the very thing on my tongue was not nourishment. Just like I had trained myself to be around the smell of human blood, I reminded myself its taste was an indicator of health for the person it came from. Even though it had been only a few drops the demon that lived within me reminded me of its presence, but like I had practiced, I forced myself into a diagnostic mindset and reviewed what his blood told me about his well-being.

Apart from the surgery, it was another routine shift. After finishing up, turning in my notes, and leaving my charges in good order, as had been my custom, I walked to a bench that I had claimed as mine, at least in my head, shortly after my first shift at this hospital and prayed. The lack of new patients meant that I had walked out the door only an hour past the working hour expected. Honestly, if they would have let me, and it would not caused suspicion, I would have preferred to work through the day as well.

Walking towards my bench, I passed a couple arguing. Even though their voices were harsh whispers, I was incapable of giving them the privacy they clearly sought.

"I have to go, Beatrice," he stated firmly the sadness and certainty mix in equal measure.

"No, you do not Donald. You do not have to do anything. You could choose to stay here with me, rather than chasing after a dream that might never come true," she claimed her tone making her heartbreak clear.

"I love you. I do. Please do not doubt that, but if I do not take this opportunity, I will come to regret it, and maybe even one day, come to regret you. Selfishly, I would like to take this opportunity and keep you with me, but that is not a choice. In a few years when I am more established, we can be wed and then there will be no questions asked, no obstacles. I would like to ask you to wait for me. Nevertheless, I will not, especially as I cannot guarantee that I will return. I understand the risks, and I do wish for you to wait for me, but I will not ask this of you," he told her with a complex emotional mix of longing, sadness, regret, and excitement.

"You are choosing your dream over me. You are saying that pursuing money and status is more important than our love. How am I to take that in any way other than a rejection? How am I to wrap my mind around you setting our love aside and risking yourself, while telling me that you would wish me to wait for you?" she accused him her voice cutting.

He winced.

"What your actions are telling me is that your status is more important than anything, more important than me, than love. Is that the kind of husband I want? Someone who would sacrifice others feelings along with the ability to be cared for and receive affection at the alter of accomplishment and prestige? I understand that if you stay, you will resent it. I know you well enough to know that you must go, but do not fool yourself. Recognise that you are worshiping something that is not God and is not love." By the end the girl sounded winded as if the words had stolen her life force.

"I am so sorry," he muttered sounding torn in two. "I do love you."

"I know," she told him sweetly, "but for you our love is not enough. I hope that the future has everything you hope for." Then she kissed his cheek and walked away.

For almost fifteen minutes he did not move from his spot, then slowly he turned and left.

Once sat down, my mind reran the thoughts that had comforted me in the past when I had been faced in hearing humans living their lives. I was a doctor, before I was a man, before I was a vampire, before really anything. The only part of my life that was more imperative than being a doctor was my diet. There were numerous things I enjoyed about being a doctor. First and foremost, it allowed me to fill my day. What other single vampires did with the hours afforded to them was mysterious to me, but lounging around seemed frightfully dull to me. Second, my work allowed me to make some good of my life. I liked that my hands and heightened senses aided in the healing of humans. It was particularly gratifying, like the surgery on the young man, when those capacities offered hope to someone that by all other accounts would not have had much. Short lives or not, there was something sublime about aiding humans in making their years as pleasant as possible. And third, it engaged my mind in curious problems. What I did in the world was eminent.

Did that make the girl's accusations true of me? Was my lack of company more to do with where I had placed my focus than the options afforded to me? Somehow, though, the thoughts that had comforted me for close to a century looked something akin to the young man's words, and the young lady's accusations pierced my being, as if they had been spoken to me. Looking back over my time in Volturra, my years since, and even what I remembered of my human years, I had to admit that I had much in common with that young man. I had been so focused on proving myself worthy of a station in society, of proving myself to my father that love and intimacy had hardly been within my consideration. The same was true once I was turned. First, I had been consumed with how to adjust to this new life, while hoping to make my father proud, and keeping to my values. Then, I had been focused on creating for myself a profession. In all of that I had barely registered how alone my focus and determination had made me, even, at times, when I lived at Volturra.

Even if I had never considered my actions from the point of view that the girl had accused the young man, I had been aware that as the decades since Volterra had passed, a restlessness had pressed upon me. With each decade, watching the years go on, I had wondered how the Volturi managed such long lives without the centuries and millennias causing any negative side effects. Perhaps Caius had been correct in his assessment that I was abnormal. Other vampires seemed content with their lot in life, why was I not more like them? Instead I pushed myself, was insatiably curious, and quietly discontent. Ironically, Henry David Thourough's essays and his descriptions of how most men lived quietly discontent lives had given me hope that perhaps my oddities were because I had retained more of my humanity. It was a pleasant thought, if not completely unconfirmable. Was I similarly comparable to this human and his seemingly human desire?

After some continued contemplation, I decided that although I could not go back in time, I had to believe that if Father Almighty had a woman intended for me that she would eclipse everything else, even my work. When she arrived, I would not repeat this man's mistakes and throw away the love of a woman. Instead, I would ensure that she and my love for her were primary and not my occupation. Sighing heavily outward the reality was that she was not here, and thus until she manifested, there was nothing I could do but wait, as there was no way to know if she had already been born or not, let alone a vampire yet.

Often when I contemplated how long before finding a woman I would love, I would think of something written by Benjamin Franklin, a man whose speeches I had enjoyed listening to, "situations have their inconveniences. We feel those of the present but neither see nor feel those of the future; and hence we often make troublesome changes without amendment, and frequently for the worse." Instead of falling into this trap, I tried to be grateful for what I did have. Yet, at some level my unease seemed unavoidable. Despite my attempts to stem the tide of my loneliness, my desire to improve my control over my nature and my skills as a doctor seemed to bring along with it a type of quiet discontent that centimetre by centimetre was devouring me from the inside. Frustratingly, even after much introspection I could not discover a good reason as to why that was. My incapacity to simply be grateful for the gifts God had given me and trust in the future irritated me, only increasing my restlessness and morose mood. The girl's words made this worse. They had cracked open the parts of me that I had insisted were content forcing me to properly consider the cost I was paying for my unending pursuit of my occupation, and caused me to wonder if the words Maggie, from the Irish coven, had told me were more of a curse than a truth.

Sitting on the bench, praying, all while watching the sunrise behind the heavy cloud cover, I attempted to set these thoughts aside by noticing that I was surrounded by the beauty of fall. Attempting to find serenity within myself, as there was no easy solution to my isolation, I focused on the beauty of the Creator. The leaves had been turning and the trees were still mostly full of their vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges. I spent time noticing each leaf's unique pattern and colour until my insides felt calmer. Attempting to also put aside the couple's words and what they meant to me, I forced my mind into the moment and to be grateful for what I did have. Only then did I begin to reflect on my shift. As had become my habit, since the first time I had aided someone medically, I listed all the names of my patients from the previous shift, occasionally adding someone who had been discharged already, if the case was especially dire. Despite the words and intention of my prayers, they seemed flat in comparison to decades past.

What had become clear a few decades ago was that my restlessness caused me to want more. What that more was I still did not know. It seemed like a shadow that, when I turned to grasp it, would automatically avoid my capacity. I had taken to studying at least one Psalm nearly every day when this discontent made itself evident, reminding myself that all things were in God's hands and it was not my place to question God's plan for my life. Although I meant my prayers, it was as if they were said insipidly, much like many other things in my life. Somehow the vibrancy I had once felt had faded.

My bench was not the place for excessive self-contemplation, as the streets were beginning to fill. The sun was unlikely to show itself directly; nevertheless, I headed over to the library.

Given the time on my hands and my lack of Aro's labatory, I had begun reading every non-fiction book whatever local library had in stock. When I had gotten through those, I would start on the books in the fiction section. The head librarian at the central location for this city had gruffly commented that at my rate of consumption I was bound to have the whole library read. Little did she know that she was not far off, seeing as I had skipped all the books I had previously read, unless they were a favourite. The library's collection was not that large in any case. This thought always led to the temptation of applying to a posting in a larger city where a larger collection would be had, but I was not ready for that yet. Smaller hospitals tended to have moderately skilled doctors who were grateful for my abilities and tended to overlook my oddities. Perhaps in a few more years, it would be worth the risk just for the library.

Standing in the stacks, I sighed frustrated at my impatience. After collecting my next book selections, I made my way home.

Probably, by most human standards, my place was not that nice. I had gotten it, because it had no direct view of the sun, was inexpensive, and had no neighbours whom could see easily into my windows. Upon returning, I sat down in the one chair in the single room that made up the space and began reading the book I had put aside yesterday. By the time it was getting near to my next shift I had finished that book and three more. I changed my clothes, checked my appearance before I left the house, and headed back to the hospital.

This time during my walk my mind was full of a conversation I previously had with Garrett, shortly after our meeting. He had insisted that no governing body, irrelevant their intention or the good they might have done, could be as benevolent as I had described the Volturi. He had argued that the Volturi were not superior because of how they ruled. In fact, they were not superior at all. Like the American Revolutionary he was, he insisted that all higher-level thinking creatures had been made more or less, in the grander scheme of things, equal.

"Carlisle, morals are simply thoughts, that if someone wishes to, can be altered over time. Your moral code and your reasoning mean that you attempt to aid others and cause them less harm, as much as you can. But how can you say that the man I consumed yesterday, so that I might live, was not meant to die at my hand? You live your life by your moral code, and me by mine, but how are we to judge which is more worthy?"

This, naturally, had led into a conversation about the scriptures and their place as a measuring stick by which to guide our thoughts and thus behaviours. Garrett had been raised in the church, not too dissimilar to myself, but had reevaluated the scriptures usefulness after his change, whereas I had clung to them more securely using them as a buoy in the storm of those first years.

My reminiscing was cut off by my arrival to the hospital. I concluded that my loneliness must be especially acute if yesterday I was thinking of Aro and today Garrett.

My shift started in its regular way. Each hospital had its own unique routine of how to move through the transition of its personnel. The way this hospital did it was not entirely poor. I had experienced worse. The doctor I had relieved had informed me that the hospital had not received any new patients in the last hour, so I started the shift by doing rounds, greeting each of my charges already admitted and making sure nothing else could be done for them.

My rounds were nearly half complete when I heard the cry of a male come into the hospital asking for help. Despite what I had just heard, I was required to ignore it. It had been one of the most difficult things to learn in order to work in the medical environment. I finished up with the patient in front of me, ensuring that my body portrayed none of the frustration I felt, as the urgent footsteps of the head nurse came towards me. Fortunately, she was an older woman and an experienced nurse who had never openly flirted with me, although her body always gave the telltale signals of my proximity, a combination of attraction and fear. Also, to my blessings, once Dr. Clark's lies circulated, she had taken to reprimanding the nurses under her charge when they attempted to express their interest in me as if she were a mother hen. The experience of having someone behave motherly in my presence was uncomfortable, if not also appreciated. As a result, we had developed a respectful professional relationship that I cherished. More than once I had praised her work to my superiors in hopes that her generosity towards me would be repaid by a promotion or pay increase.

"Dr. Cullen?" she called loudly when she was near enough that a human would have heard her while continuing to approach me.

Those first decades of learning the doctoring trade had been spent in close observation of the distance, volume, and tone between medical personnel till I had discovered with fair confidence of what those measurements across a multitude of settings and individuals were, so that I could hide my true capacity assuredly. Naturally there were adjustments needed in each environment, but over the years they had proven to be a good standard. These types of minuscule details had been one of the many conversations I had with Aro, who was fascinated on how I interacted with the women who sold herbs and things in the Volterra marketplace. He seemed to have no desire to learn such things himself, as he always employed humans with the lure of being turned if they served him well. Nevertheless, his desire to absorb what I had learned seemed insatiable, even after taking my hand and seeing it for himself time and time again.

This was not the time to add to my considerations of Volturi superiority how they treated the humans that worked for them. Although I had never found a moment when it seemed appropriate to pursue the topic with Aro, and he had never offered anything on the subject, despite my unspoken questions, I had often wondered if the humans the Volturi employed believed themselves to be treated well, and if the kings were a fair employer, especially given Aro's views of their inferiority. Jesus' words from the Gospel of Mathew, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" often came to mind. Given Aro's perspective of Jesus, I doubted voicing such sayings as evidence for my point of view would have persuaded him.

Pushing these thoughts aside and finishing my notes, I turned to her. "Yes, Nurse Halstead?"

"You are needed, please," she requested then with barely a pause turned around and returned from where she had come assured that I would follow.

"Certainly," I told her replacing the clipboard to its designated location.

The politics of this particular hospital was not that bad, as they came. They gave the nursing staff a moderate level of respect, and promoted based on merit rather than connections. Nevertheless, if the conversations I was not meant to overhear were to be believed, the most senior surgeon was annoyed at my knowledge and skills at my presumed age. The reason for his annoyance was no different than most other senior hospital staff members, as the majority of them assumed that my capacity as a doctor implied that I was interested in a more senior position than the one I had been hired for, which could not have been further from the truth. For this and many other reasons, I preferred to work the night shift. It was the most logical of choices after all.

The fact that I worked with Nurse Halstead was a particular bonus at this hospital. Her confidence that I would follow her pleased me, and showed me the mutual respect for one another that we had built. Even though I continued to recommend her for promotions, I would be sad to lose her when it happened.

Keeping two steps behind her, I made noise with my shoes on the linoleum floor. We entered the admitting area when I experienced something completely foreign. On the bed was the most beautiful creature I had ever had the fortune to lay my eyes on. She had long dark golden hair that might most apt be described as dark caramel with a slight curl. Even in this light white blond and strawberry red highlights could be seen. Her eyes were as blue as the Mediterranean Sea that, despite the pain, sparkled in a mischievous way that told of secrets she dared not share.

Standing there, mesmerized, my body felt buoyant as if joy had been returned to me. Since Nurse Halstead had not even coughed yet, I figured that the time elapsed must not have actually been that long as it seemed to me. It was if my sense of time had slowed down from the moment my eyes had come upon the creature in front of me. A vague human memory surfaced of an eligible woman from my village who had similar coloured eyes that I had admired from afar. This young woman in front of me must have reminded me of her, which explained my initial reaction. I was grateful for the human memory this patient had given me, as well as its intrinsic link to my humanity.

She had given me a rare gift. At the same time, it re-sparked the ponderings that the couple's argument had ignited within me. My mind wanted to dwell in that space and ruminate over it until I could see a solution. Fortunately, I was well practiced in denying myself this inclination and instead forced myself to be present in the events happening around me. It was only a distraction from my role and her medical need, I reminded myself, set it aside, and forced my mind to pay it no more attention.

Noticing more than the young woman, I turned to the man standing next to the bed as propriety in this era dictated that as a gentleman was in the room he would speak on her behalf. He had informed the duty nurse that he was her father, although I was not yet supposed to know that. I minded my language, ensuring to give nothing away, briefly reminded myself of the proper conduct for this era and local customs, as well as his social standing based on his clothing, and asked, "What brings you in today?"

"She broke her leg," he explained with a tone that contained an exasperated tiredness that I did not understand.

Breaks were common enough, more commonly with boys, but humans were fragile and there was little protection their bodies' provided them for many of the tasks required of them to provide for themselves their food and shelter. In this way, I had conceded to Aro, vampires had an advantage.

"She fell out of a tree while reading," he added reluctantly as if admitting a sin.

Literacy, generally, had improved amid humans since my era, and, although I had read newspaper articles over the last half century encouraging literacy among females, it seemed from my vantage point that most young ladies knew little more than the basics. Even within the nursing staff, who were quite educated women, literary conversations were rare and, even all these centuries later, seemed reserved for the wealthier classes. Thus, I had to presume that this young woman's reading habits were causing her father some sort of displeasure. What kind I could not imagine, unless it had to do with her doing so in a tree.

Perhaps her literary pursuits got in the way of her chores on the farm. I could only imagine my own father's displeasure if he had found me reading as much as I did now. It brought me a rebellious giddiness to think that my present reading habits would have placed me in the same position as this young woman. As soon as the thought passed through my mind, I chided myself. The scriptures called us to honour our fathers and mothers. If her activities dishonoured them in some way, then who was I to judge? I did not know their family, her responsibilities, or in fact what had caused the fall. Nevertheless, I could say for certain that she was the first human female I had encountered to have had broken her leg due to reading in a tree. Whatever the reason for her family's reaction, I suspected that this had ended her tree climbing days.

The young woman in front of me did not look abashed at the revealing of this information. If I had to guess, in fact, I would say she looked sad, as if she was waiting for her dog to be put down. It was then that I took note of the fact that she was not even wincing. The combination struck me as brave and slightly brazen. For reasons I could not name that combination reminded me of the young woman of my village that had similar eyes to the young woman in front of me. I could not remember much, but within me I could say that my father would not have approved of that attribute. Yet, if my memory was accurate, I had found it attractive. It was an unusual similarity and one that, once again, gave me back a small sliver of my humanity. Once more, I found myself to be in this young patient's debt.

"Nurse, would you mind escorting Mr.?" I asked waiting patiently for him to fill in his name, as I was not meant to have known it yet.

"Platt," he filled in authoritatively.

"Platt," I repeated, smiling kindly at them both, "to the waiting room."

Mr. Platt looked reluctant to leave. The reaction was not uncommon with those from the rural areas. They were accustomed to being treated in their homes and the clinical nature of the hospitals often put them off. It was curious why they had travelled the distance rather than calling on their local doctor. Clearly if this man was willing to travel to the city, trust strangers in a hospital, and pay the extra costs for such treatments, he cared for his daughter greatly, even if he was displeased at her reading and the broken leg.

"I promise to fetch you as soon as I have examined her and mended the break," I told him reassuringly, smiling in a way that charmed most humans.

He nodded curtly, and then walked out briskly.

His willing to leave was appreciated, but more than that I admired how he was handling himself. Over the years, I had seen many different reactions, and Mr. Platt's, in my esteem, was the bravest of them all.

As he turned to leave, my mind was already attempting to puzzle out why this young woman had returned to me more human memories than any person, human or vampire, had done in the past. Even though I admired her composure, and was grateful for the memories, I could not stop the sense of discomfort I felt. Scolding myself a little to return to the business of medicine, I put aside the personal sentiments she had inspired reminding myself repeatedly that she was simply a human patient and I had a job to do.

* * *

 _A/N:_ _I am excited to hear your thoughts and feedback about this opening chapter and how it portrays Carlisle._


	2. Introductions

**Chapter 2: Introductions**

* * *

Turning back to Miss Platt, internal feelings of gratitude welled up inside me, as it did each time I had the opportunity to care for a patient. One of the verses in the Psalms that I greatly valued came from Psalm 27, ""The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" Certainly my perspective of the verse after my transformation would be different than before. Regretfully, many of those kinds of details from my human life had not remained with me through my burning. Nevertheless, it was with this verse and others that I reminded myself not to be afraid of the demon inside of me that wanted to behave monstrously. The Lord's strength was all that I needed to overcome its desires and the temptations it thrust upon me. Thus, it was the Almighty's strength that gave me the capacity and honour of saving human lives, or at least improving them some.

Additionally, I was grateful each day for the grace afforded to me by medicine in how it gave me focus and purpose. Medicine was what allowed me to move through time. For at least the hours at the hospital my mind was primarily engrossed in the here and now business of healing humans. In spite of this, medicine's capacity to hold my attention had lessened as the decades had passed. Unfortunately, especially over the last fifty years, the cases had all begun to look like something I had seen before, and the challenges that last night's case had offered were becoming rarer and rarer. And after hearing that couple's argument, I had spent much mental time pondering the value of the focus and purpose I had once prized.

At the same time, it would have been silly to do nothing with the time the Almighty had afforded me. Certainly the way medicine was practiced had changed a lot from mostly herbs to the increase of pharmaceuticals and there were always new things to learn. It was one of the things I loved about medicine. It was not stagnant, and thus forced me as time marched on to learn and grow. Nonetheless, the excitement and thrill I had once received from my role as doctor had decreased. Thus my occupation, which was once absolutely fulfilling, had lost its lustre adding to my melancholy and bringing with it sentiments that had hounded me in my early years, although the hopelessness that had plagued me then was, fortunately, not yet present.

My mind often pondered if my increased melancholy and quiet discontent was what caused my thoughts to often return to Aro and my time in Volterra. Truly it was the last time my mind had been so stimulated. There was the option, of course, to return at any time, and a part of me did want to. Then I would remember how small the castle had become, how confining, how endowed to Aro I had felt and the intensity at which I had disliked the feeling, and thus had left to flap my own wings once more. No, it was unlikely that returning to Volterra for more than a short visit was the answer to my problems.

Medicine had been my solution to my internal state up to this point, and I needed it to be once more. At least on the night shift I stood some chance, no matter how small, that something complex or new might come in giving me the opportunity to sort it, rather than the case going to the senior doctor. The chance of that occurring was smaller at this location, than it would have been in a bigger city. Just one of the downsides of a smaller hospital like this one was that it could be hours before an emergency arrived. Certainly wishing for humans to become injured or infirmed was wrong. Instead, I tried to focus my mind, pray, and pass the time by thoroughly ensuring the welfare of admitted patients.

Whether the shift contained thrills or not, I reprimanded myself, my job needed doing and then there was the critical job of making sure that senior surgeons forgot that I worked at their hospital. Clearly, my preferred shifts and the temporary positions, while conceal my nature, also limited me. Nonetheless, my schedule kept me out of the direct line of sight of anyone who might want to look at me too closely. Out of sight, out of mind the saying went. Therefore, instead of focusing on what I did not have and the melancholy that accompanied these thoughts, I forced myself to focus on this still present feeling of gratitude that filled me each time I was offered a new patient. After all, it was a miracle that I was able to practice medicine at all. Despite my mind's confidence in this statement, a small part of me still mulling over that couple's arguement could not help but wonder if I had been focusing on all the wrong things after all.

Unwilling to ruminate on their exchange once more, I turned my attention to my patient, and asked her, "So, Miss Platt, which leg did you break or did your reading manage to damage them both?"

At the same time that I asked Miss Platt about her injuries, I heard Mr. Platt ask the nurse where the waiting room was and then inform her he would return shortly with his wife.

Miss Platt scowled at me in response to my question.

Fighting a smile that threatened to fill my face, I managed to look at her sternly.

Usually my nature caused my patients to be a weary around me. Even if they could not name what made them uncomfortable about my presence, it was there, nonetheless. Over the years I had learned ways of putting them at ease, as much as I could. Despite these tricks, there had been a few that had scowled at me; all of them males. Not to mention that with those males it had seemed like their reaction was habitual, which struck me as a poor fit to Miss Platt's temperament. Instead, it appeared that her response was a genuine spontaneous emotional reaction without any of the weariness and inhibition I had become accustomed to, which endeared her to me, as it caused me to feel most like myself than I had with a human in almost a century.

Then there were my reactions to her. I quickly reviewed my memory to find the last time I had wanted to smile in a similar manner, and stopped after a decade realizing that it had been a while. To have such an unguarded authentic moment with another person, let alone a human baffled me. My mind could not comprehend the very facts laid out in front of me. It was a fortunate puzzle, but one that tickled my brain.

Watching Miss Platt intently she appeared to be normal. Even more fortunate, my puzzling had not seemed to be obvious enough to be burdensome to her. In fact, it took her a few more moments before she eventually dropped her eyes. "Just the one," she admitted her voice holding a tone of embarrassment.

Without even being able to stop it, a part of my brain began analyzing and categorizing our interaction thus far trying to reach a reasonable hypothesis as to why the last few minutes would have been contrary to my expectations. Making sure that mental work was in the background of my mind, I reminded myself of my role as a doctor and the propriety necessary.

Nodding in acknowledgement of her response and in appreciation of her candour, I asked her, "Would you mind lifting your skirt to your knees please?"

While making the request, I had pulled down the bed covers that the nurses had placed on her. I was surprised to find her in no shoes. As few things genuinely surprised me anymore, it was placed in the pile of my mind of the unusual things related to our interaction.

"How old are you, Miss Platt?" I asked softly, only afterwards realizing the inappropriateness of the question. My tone and the question itself, given the context, indicated a kind of familiarity with Miss Platt that crossed the era's expected lines between doctor and patient. Unable to take the question back, it got added it to my internal list. Watching her response carefully, I wanted to ensure her sensibilities had not been violated.

"Sixteen," she answered jutting out her chin.

Once more her lack of fear startled me, but in an enjoyable way. Her reaction was almost as if we were old family friends, rather than strangers. The pleasure at having such a familial reaction filled me like a gentle warmth starting from the centre of my torso and moving outward till it touched even the tips of my fingers and ends of my toes. The last time I had experienced a sensation even remotely similar was when I had come across the lessons in Paris on medicine. Surely my physiological response was odd. Not sure what to make of this newest event, it was added to my list to mull over after my shift.

Since she had responded to my impropriety with authenticity, I decided that to do anything else than mirror her dishonoured the pleasure and gift she had just given me, even what was happening confused and befuddled me. Allowing my words and tone to be natural and holding nothing back, even if it was in a human tone, I teased her, "Sixteen seems too old to be without shoes." By the end of the sentence I was even working hard at hiding the laughter that wanted to escape me. There was a lightness and a sense of freedom within me that was wonderful, if not unexplained and foreign. Allowing my playfulness to shine through once more, I asked her, "Did your parents take them?" Even still, the teasing in my voice surprised me. Teased a patient like this was a new experience. It was like she had transported me to a space where I was not a vampire and she a human, or she a patient and I a doctor. Instead, we were equals enjoying one another in a way that we had done multiple times before and would multiple times again. Although enjoyable, it was a bit disconcerting. After hundreds of years of knowing my role and place in life, to be suddenly tossed into something different felt forbidding.

Miss Platt's cheeks became slightly pinker, only adding to her beauty, and then she looked down at her hands. "No." She frowned as if she were admitting a great crime. "I generally run around the farm and climb trees without shoes, much to the dismay of my mother."

"I see," I told her unable to help a small smile from escaping. It was an endearing image.

Memories of the girls in the village of my youth sprang to mind. Most of them had run around without shoes. Well, at least to a certain age. What an odd thing to remember at this moment. Even more surprising was that Miss Platt had given me not one but two human memories. My indebtedness to her just seemed to grow. Unlike my debt to my colleague, I was not sure how such a thing might be repaid. Nor was I entirely sure how to return us to the space we were meant to dwell.

My mind began replaying those first moments of awakening as a vampire, a rare event since my time with Aro. It was nearly involuntary, as if her words drew me into the past ordering me to unearth a precious gem that had been missed prior.

Even after the pain had ended, I continued to lay with the same stillness as during the burning. My increased hearing capacity, the sensitivity my skin had to my surroundings, and the powerful and horrid smell surrounding me, while something fragrant and enticing held itself just beyond tempting me to go find it, reinforced what I had come to believe during the lucid moments that had existed between the pain. My father's stories of monsters being able to convert humans into their own kind had become manifest within me. I had been transformed. Even behind my eyelids my eyes registered that the light filtering into the space in which I had hidden myself meant that the sun was still up. Like looking through fog I recalled being so easily overpowered by the monster. He had incredible strength, so it stood to reason that I likely did as well. That meant that I had become a liability to my neighbours and townspeople.

Yet, even in the midst of my awareness of becoming a monster, I did not feel like one. Certainly physical elements of me had changed, yet there seemed to be no discernible difference to the kind of person and man I remembered myself to be before being bitten. It did not take long, however, to conclude that none, especially my father, would see my transformation that way and would listen to reason. There was also the small matter that my sense of self was untested. Nevertheless, with dogmatic determination I vowed to myself that whether my father witnessed it or not, I would not fall from grace, and thereby prove his need to rush to condemnation wrong.

After a long excruciating time and lots of consideration, my course of action became clearer. My best proposition was to wait in my hiding space till nightfall when most people would be in bed. My decision made I attempted to sleep. Certainly, after all that pain, my body would need rest. But even though my eyes had yet to be opened, sleep seemed to elude me. My throat was parched in a manner that was both foreign and highly uncomfortable. IT seemed a reasonable conclusion that the discomfort in my throat was what kept me from resting. There was no way to solve that issue. Struggling to find something that might help, eventually I recalled giving my mind a puzzle to assisted me when sleep had alluded my previously. Attempting to do so quickly allowed me to discover that figuring out what was happening around me seemed somewhat futile, not to mention that momentarily focusing on my senses had worsened the pain in my throat. So, instead I focused on the strange phenomenon of how my memories seemed to me.

Slowly and thoroughly starting from my most recent memories I retraced everything that my mind could recall moving backwards through time. I was in my mid-childhood when no more sunlight was entering my hiding space. Opening my eyes, it was immediately clear that my eyesight had changed as well. Most interesting was that, despite the lack of light, I could see clearly. How the sewer wraiths had known where our group became abundantly clear. We might have needed torches, but the creature that had bit me would certainly have not, assuming his eyesight was comparable to mine.

Moving with a purpose of making as little noise as possible, I extricated myself from my hole. The sky had been clear allowing the moon's light to shine and the stars to be seen. The view of the stars had me awestruck, but I forced myself to focus on my task on hand. Once the lid had been returned to its proper location, I had started walking out of town. It took only a few steps to realize that my body was moving far quicker than it would have prior. At the same time that awareness hit me the enticing fragrance that had been barely discernible became much stronger. Without thought my eyes caught one of the parishioners that had been with me on the raid last night some distance off carrying a torch. Unwilling to meet with him and have him see what the monster had done to me, I had attempted to hide myself between the buildings.

Even though my eyes could no longer see him, it was like his essence had called to me. Suddenly my ears could hear nothing but the sound of his heart, my nose unable to smell anything but that alluring fragrance. Like a lightning bolt from the heavens it dawned on me that my senses had become attuned to him, most probably to kill him, as the sewer monster had done to others. Deeply ashamed at what this meant and unwilling to kill the man I had once called friend I had run. It had taken merely a few strides to become aware of the fact that I could run far faster than any human. Thanking the heavens for this small blessing, I had sprinted until I had been deep in the forest. Stopping, praying that I would not kill anyone and condemn my soul to hell for breaking one of the Ten Commandments, I had dropped to my knees.

The pain of that moment caused my mind to split from reliving it like a removed limb becoming rejoined to the body. Before I could adjust to the rejoining, my senses became entirely pinpointed on the lush fragrance of human blood surrounding me. It was a siren's call demanding that I follow it to its natural end. With the mental fortitude built over centuries, I snapped back fully into myself, which allowed the coveting for Miss Platt's blood to once more be a distant memory. My first sentiment as I gazed at Miss Platt's leg was shame. Given the gifts she had bestowed upon me, it seemed particularly heinous to crave her blood. Not to mention that I had not been tempted to such a degree in over a century. It took a few seconds before recalling that the shame served no purpose. She was not harmed. Like in the past, I reminded myself that it was not shameful to be tempted. To give in to the temptation was were the sin lay.

Perhaps only an empath, if such a vampire existed, would have really know the severity of that moment. More than anything, this unexpected memory fortified my father's conviction of the monstrosity regarding the creature I had become. Even though it gave me great compassion for the wraith that had attacked me, I had never, since awakening, experienced such desolation at the awareness that everything about my physiology was intended to hunt and kill a human. It would have been so easy, in the beginning, to give into my nature and let go of my former human beliefs, but I refused. Instead, against all convention and my nature I became dogmatically determined to prove my father wrong. Surely the fact that Miss Platt lay in the bed unaware of my struggle was testament to my success thus far.

Shaking my head the smallest amount in a futile attempt to dislodge these thoughts, I forced my mind to notice anything, even if it were the dust mites, of this space that contain the being in front of me. Not only had this patient caused human memories to surface that I had lost, but then my mind had conjured that horrible first awakening. Although appreciative that her presence had brought me something I had forgotten, the rest caused me to look at her calculating. Since leaving the sanctuary of the Volturi's castle, I had learned to be especially careful with my thoughts surrounding my thirst while in humans' presence. Once mastered, I had not slipped in this way until her. Strangely, my mind reverted to how it pondered things during the years after just being turned in hopes of uncovering a path of understanding. It was if she was a witch with unnatural powers similar to what my father had preached so dogmatically against. For the first time in my existence, rather than becoming automatically curious, I felt cautious. Over the centuries I had met women gifted with herbs, but no witches as my father had described them. Was it possible that my father had been correct about their reality as he had the wraiths? Her presence unnerved me in a way that was startling. Humans feared me, not the other way around. Holding any trepidation regarding her nature made her anomalous.

As I critically examined her features, I could see nothing more than a heavenly glow from her. Without purposefulness or intent my whole being seemed to recoil from the idea that my father's label could be applied to her. Images of women's screams and pleads as they burnt to death flashed from my human memories. Internally wincing, I refused, even if she had latent powers like Jane, to see her in that way. Jane's gift might have manifested in another form if her human years or her ending might have been different. This was no dissimilar to my conversation with Aro about superiority.

Perhaps, my mind considered, rather than being a witch, she was a simple human girl put in my life by the Almighty to cause me to remember how much transformation had already transpired in my life. If so, she was a strange answer to prayer that I be freed from my melancholy. Choosing to cling to that possibility, rather than continue to ponder these things more, I became filled with hope and gratitude. Smiling tightly at her, as to not allow my teeth to show, so that I would not frighten her and in order that I might continue to appear professional, I inwardly prayed for wisdom and guidance, while also giving thanks for the gifts she had given me, witch or not. What had transpired inwardly during the less than a minute of lapse time reminded me of the scripture that we might be entertaining angels unawares. Angel or not, sent from God or not, she was still considered a hospital patient, and I had a job to do.

Turning my attention to the young girl who had disrupted my world, I told her, "I agree with your assessment, Miss Platt. It appears to me that just the one is broken. Fortunately, it is a clean break. I will need to set it in place so it will heal properly. That part will be quite painful. Then you will need bed rest while it heals."

"Mother will be terribly displeased," she told me matter-of-factly. She smiled at the end of her words, but her eyes looked worried.

"Pleased or not it will be doctor's orders," I explained to her while attempting to smile warmly and reassuringly. "Are you ready to get the worst part over?"

Her eyes hardened and her body stiffened. "Yes."

"Alright, let me get a nurse to assist," I let her know.

She let out a breath heavily as if she had been holding it.

Briefly, I considered the possibility of giving Miss Platt morphine. Considering the side effects of vomiting, as well as this hospital's discouragement of using it unless absolutely critical to the operation, I decided to go without. Not to mention that this was a procedure I was very familiar with. Also, there would be a general lack of pain once the bone was set, due to it being a clean break. Setting a bone had been one of my first acts as a doctor, after all, and at that time pain relief had not even been an option.

Leaving Miss Platt I went and found Nurse Halstead. "Your assistance is required, please Nurse."

"Yes sir," she replied.

As I had walked to Nurse Halstead and then back to Miss Platt, a part of my mind had gone back to musing over the decisions that had brought me to that first bone repair. My initial horror at being turned into the monster I had previously hunted lessened upon discovering my ability to subsist on a venison diet. Unburdened from the compulsion of having to kill humans to survive, it occurred to me that I was free to explore the advantages God had given me from my transformation without having to succumb to the demon inside. Yet, in some moments the demon was harder to fight than others. Fortunately, through each of those moments God had continued to give me strength.

After a few decades of living in England and attempting to gain direction regarding what the Good Lord wanted from me and how I might serve His will, I had decided to leave my homeland. In Paris, I had discovered the incredible institution of university and sat on rooftops or in nearby trees listening to lectures and learning. I had enjoyed the disciplines of philosophy and theology, but it was when I had listened in to a class on human anatomy that a sense of rightness and completion had filled my body. In addition to human anatomy, I absorbed everything possible on biology, and chemistry. Libraries became my sanctuary. The more I learned the more passion for medicine I acquired. The purposelessness and thus hopelessness that had accompanied me in those early years had been replaced by excitement, joy, and an anticipation for the future. Finally I had found my calling!

Naturally, the greatest obstacle to my chosen profession was the necessity of mastering the demon that dwelt within. Never once could I allow myself the luxury of forgetting the temptation human blood brought. As my control expanded and the call of human blood lessened, my belief that God had given me a chance at redemption increased, while also giving me a good use of the years ahead of me. Fortunately, during those years testing myself around human blood was easy to come by, as Paris in the late 1600s was a violent and gruesome place. Believing myself to have enough information to not cause harm, and was, at minimum, able to be in the vicinity of bleeding humans, I began to explore other parts of Europe.

In Sweden I had been able to help a young boy who had an internal fracture. The lack of blood had made things easier. With intense concentration I had been able to put the bone into place and had made a splint that would, God willing, one day, allow him a complete recovery. With living proof I could improve the lives of others and aid in healing, despite what I had become, I travelled when the cloud cover had allowed me, learning languages, and helping humans when it felt safe enough for me to do so. Each time I doctored someone increased my jubilation and courage.

Eventually, I had found my way to Italy, and thus had come across the Volturi. As an added bonus, my chosen profession had allowed me to begin to earn money, which had opened up new opportunities and new experiences, although a new human memory was a first. Continuing to puzzle out what was so unique about Miss Platt, I arrived back to her bed with Nurse Halstead trailing behind.

"Miss Platt, Nurse Halstead here is going to hold you steady while I set the bone so that you do not accidently worsen things," I informed her.

She nodded and stiffened her body once more.

Nurse Halstead held her. I grabbed Miss Platt's calf with my right hand. A little vibration moved into my fingertips and down my arm to my elbow. It was the oddest sensation, one I had never felt before, but during an operation was not the time to analyse it. I manoeuvred my left hand into position. A similar sensation happened when I touched her once more, but again pushed it aside for consideration later. Using my sense of touch, I felt for where the bone needed to go. As much as I hated to cause Miss Platt pain, there was no better way for the bone to heal.

Giving Nurse Halstead a meaningful look, she nodded indicating her readiness.

From the beginning of when nurses became a permanent fixture in the field of medicine, I had wished the nurses would be less subservient. Their job was just as vital, if not at times more so than mine. Not to mention, that like this procedure, a skilled nurse who could easily illicit the patient's trust was critical for me to do my job, particularly since my nature often sent the human's instincts wanting to flee from me. As a result, a nurse that elicited trust often helped the patient extend that trust into my skills as a doctor. Unfortunately, even though I might be able to mend a few humans' bodies, many things were simply out of my hands. The culture of hospitals was certainly one of them. My only hope was that it would change over time and their value would be more acknowledged as the years passed.

As quickly as I could, without raising suspicion, I moved the bone in Miss Platt's leg back into place.

Miss Platt made a squealing sound, but it was muffled. Simultaneously, I smelled blood. Looking at her, I noticed that she had bitten into her lip. Luckily, the smell of coagulation was present and the wound already healing.

It did not happen very often anymore, but, on a rare occasion, an injury would come into the hospital in which there was a profuse amount of blood. On these occasions, the scent particles entering my system would burn my throat and my inner nature's desire was to sample what lay before me. I had not yet once lost control in such a situation. However, a few times, once the patient was mended as much as could be, I would need to excuse myself in order to get some clean air. Thus, it was with much patience and discomfort on my part that I was getting better as a surgeon. This fact pleased me. Often it also was a strain on my control. Yet, it was easier in a way to aid patients when they were less aware, as they lacked the capacity to fear me in these states.

Once, thirty years ago, I had been asked to assist with repairing a bullet wound. For a moment, a small hole through the chest cavity appeared and I was able to see the heart pumping. It had been necessary to go hunt directly afterwards, and to call in sick for a few days. For weeks my mind had automatically visualized the organ in every human I encountered. Although it had been difficult, I had been through similar trials previously, which reassured me that everything would get easier with enough time.

None of God's creatures could change their basic natures, but each held within it the capacity to overcome its baser instincts. Had that not been the more glorious aspect of my father's teachings? It had inspired me as a youth, and it continued to do so. In reflection, I was grateful for passing the test that beating heart had given me. It was the last time something had truly challenged me. Wishing for challenges was dangerous, so I worked at being grateful to God that He had given me the strength to do this work.

Miss Platt, outside of my momentary weakness, was not challenging in that way, but she did conjure something within me that was strange. I had experienced the sensation of lightheadedness at the image of her reading in a tree barefoot, which was bizarre and contrary to what I had learned about vampire nature. Then there had been the memories and me thinking back on my awakening. As far as I knew, vampires could not be light headed, and a human igniting memory seemed unusual, leaving me stumped and confused. It had been so many years that anything but gloominess had been my primary emotional state that I felt overwhelmed. Concerned of forgetting myself in an old resurrected memory once more, I chided myself for getting lost in my thoughts in a place where appearing inhuman would be unforgivable. My pondering of Miss Platt's gifts reminded me that she was waiting for me, so I once more focused on my job checking for any post-op damage and then compared the injured leg to her uninjured leg as an added way to confirm the success of the operation.

"Well done," Nurse Halstead commended to Miss Platt before leaving to retrieve the items for a splint.

From all appearances she did not seem to register Nurse Halstead's words.

After a few moments had passed, while writing my notes I whispered at a human level, as a means of distraction, "So what book were you reading that caused such a misadventure?"

"The History of Mr. Polly," she whispered back her facial features changing into something resembling satisfaction.

Personally, I found the book mediocre at best. Consequently, her response increased my curiosity of her. Despite its irregularity, without question I wanted to know why she had seemed so emotionally connected to the book.

"Was it worth the fall?" I asked quietly keeping my primary focus on the page, both hoping to assuage my inquisitiveness and wishing her to continue in this frame of mind rather than allow her to dwell on whatever throbbing pain she might be experiencing.

"Any book is worth it," she answered assuredly in an almost defiant manner.

It seemed like every answer gave me two more questions. Had I misinterpreted her appearance of liking the book when in fact she had been conveyed her enjoyment of reading in general? There was no easy way to acquire my answers. If nothing else, her answer confirmed my suspicion of her being brazen. Such a quality was not admired in this era in a woman. Not to mention that according to my father, her behaviour would have belonged to the lower classes. If the nurses' gossip was to go by, women needed to be able to obey, be submissive, add to her husband's standing in every way, and be a good mother. I wondered if Miss Platt's character would disadvantage her in terms of prospective suitors. Perhaps this was what was causing her father's displeasure. Clearly he cared for her, and naturally he would want to see her hand secured to someone who would offer her a good future. For a moment, I imagined her in a wedding gown. The image created a sensation in me that was entirely delightful, which confused and troubled me, so I ceremoniously pushed it out of my mind.

Instead of coming back to the moment, my mind returned to the last time I had visited my village.

When I had decided to leave Volterra and travel to the New World, I first returned to my homeland, collecting the few remaining possessions of my father's to add to his Bible that I had carried with me throughout Europe. The differences from my memory to how it had become were startling and unsettling. It saddened me to see the way human society had changed. One alteration that stood out was that women, who were once valued and free to roam as they pleased, seemed restrained in ways that were foreign to me. The other was how the church seemed to be more abstract and the victor in father's church spoke of ideas more than concrete ways of living. Much of what I heard troubled me, in fact. Over and over I had to remind myself that humans were no longer my kind and my kin was long buried.

Even though I had found my parents gravestones, it was abundantly clear to me that by the next time I would return there would be nothing left of them, not even these markers. It was a hard pill to swallow and the first time that I had fully faced the consequences of my life being extended. I had been my father's only offspring and thus his legacy carried on, but in a way that he would have abhorred. Holding tightly to the scriptures of "honour thy mother and father," I prayed that my chosen profession would honour them.

The boat I had chosen to travel to the New World took longer than the direct ones, but ported every two weeks or less. At each port I had been able to find something to drink and even had attended to a few minor injuries on the ship. Nevertheless, mostly I spent my time wrestling with my thoughts, as I struggled to understand how the change in women's status and all that I had learned in Volterra fit within the plans of a benevolent loving God. By the time I had arrived to the New World and had declared my occupation as a doctor to the immigration officer no one questioned my skills, yet I was no closer to an internal resolution.

For some years I had managed to set aside my introspective ponderings. When first arriving in the New World, I had worked as a doctor's assistant, learned triage on battlefield, and continued to master my bloodlust. At the time that I had met Garrett in the surgery tent, I was able to be around flowing blood for a few hours at a time. If the other doctors noticed my absences in between, they never mentioned anything. By the time of the Civil War I could go a day sometimes a bit more around flowing blood without the need to hunt. This experience strengthened my confidence. Then when there became the invent of the emergency ward of a hospital it gave me the belief in my capacities to work in that space as well, and led me to learn that the ER was my favourite place in the hospital. As soon as the option of the emergency ward night shift had arisen it became my sanctuary.

Over the years these lessons amoungst others had developed into my present working schedule and custom of spending much of the day exploring the town in which I had lived when cloud cover permitted me. I would walk around, get books from the library, and generally learn my surroundings. Not that I had ever stayed long in one location, but this routine allowed me to make easier conversation with patients as well as my co-workers. It had also allowed me hope. Although the cultural customs changed, I began to see over time, that the workings in people's homes changed little. People were still people. Men and women might use different words or ways, but in the end, in most people's homes, they treated each other with respect and kindness.

In addition, my wanderings gave me a sense of being more a part of the place and time in which I lived. However, there were always the days when the sun shone and I was forced to stay in my lodgings. I also had learned quickly that fill-in temporary positions were a reasonable way for me to explain my mobility, never causing suspicion. In fact, my leave of this hospital was due in a week. Already had my new placement set up. It would start in ten days giving me a leisurely three days to travel and find new accommodations. In these ways, eventually my belief in God's benevolence was restored, although I still hoped that one day nurses would be given their rightful dues. That thought blessedly allowed me to once more focus on my patient, Miss Platt, and our conversation.

"Do you have a favourite author?" I asked, desiring to continue distracting Miss Platt as well as being intrigued in my own right.

After a moment's thought, she told me bashfully, "It is hard to choose, but perhaps Jules Verne."

This bashfulness seemed in direct contradiction to her ability to not cry out when I had set her bone or her admission, as it was a strange choice of author for a young woman. Immediately I wondered what about his books she liked so much. Perhaps, she was aware that this choice spoke of her not bowing to convention. For the briefest of seconds my mind considered the possibility of what she might think of me if she were to discover my nature. Would she see me simply as a creature distinct from her own species, but equally worthy of care and respect, or as most humans did would she begin to respond in shock and fear?

Not for the first time, questions asserted themselves regarding my own assured confidence that the creature that I had hunted had been a monster. His actions certainly were not of the same refinement and positive contribution to the world as the three kings. At the same time, what had I known about the wraith of the sewer? If I met him, would my opinion of him be different? It seemed only natural for a human to fear matters which were strange, especially when it contained the potential to cause deadly harm. Yet, Miss Platt appeared thus far to hold no fear of me. Could that imply she would see me as a creature worth getting to know despite the demon that lived within me?

As soon as these thoughts came, they were dismissed. For Miss Platt to even make that consideration would seal her death. Chiding myself for even considering such an abominable possibility, I instead focused my mind about what her answer might tell me about her character and the kind of woman she might be maturing into.

Any response to her assertion that I considered contained a possible appearance of disrupting or dishonouring her truth. Not wishing to do that, instead of speaking, I nodded my accord, imagining that if there were books, apart from the Bible, in the village of my youth that I would have more likely been up a tree reading, rather than minding my chores. The thought warmed me, while also allowing me to feel some intangible connection to this young woman.

Before I could ask Miss Platt another question about the nature of her reading, the distinct gait of Nurse Halstead could be heard. Miss Platt appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, so I said nothing until Nurse Halstead's returned. Upon her arrival, we got to work. Nurse Halstead held Miss Platt's injured leg in place, while I secured the splint.

"All right, it is all set," I announced upon its completion. Looking up, Miss Platt was smiling at me. I smiled back tentatively, as few humans had smiled at me in my role as a doctor, even in a polite perfunctorily manner, as if my nature robbed them of the capacity. It did not bother me, as they were acting instinctually. However, it made Miss Platt's smile unusual, and thus slightly curious. "Nurse Halstead, would you please inform Mr. and Mrs. Platt that the operation is complete."

"Yes, sir," she replied, and then she was gone.

Writing my notes, I ensured that my attention was solely focused on detailing the operation for the day staff and to the environment, as to not be caught lost in my thoughts.

Her parents were on their way, but still out of human hearing range.

"I am sad to inform you Miss Platt that you will need to remain with us," I let her know, ensuring my tone was the one I used when performing my duties as a doctor.

"Oh?" she asked, but her eyes sparkled and the edges of her mouth were creeping upwards like she was trying to hold in whatever was amusing her.

I nodded solemnly her response confusing me. "Yes, I will explain your treatment upon your parents' return."

She smiled. "That sounds just fine, thank you."

There was silence, but it was a companionable one.

Looking at Miss Platt, I could not help but recall the doctor who worked the previous shift's rush to get home, most likely due to him being a newlywed. He had hurriedly filled me in on my rounds and thanked me for the fact that he was able to leave on time and ran out the doors. It was an enjoyable sight to see, and I was glad to aid him in his present happiness this small bit, but my heart had tinged a little wondering if I would ever be graced with a spouse.

In Italy I had learned that Aro and Caius both had wives and Marcus' wife was no longer, but it had given me hope that maybe one day love would be possible for me. There was no hurry. I enjoyed my work and my present lifestyle was not conducive for married life, but facts did not change my yearnings to have company. Consequently, the idea of being married often came to me in my loneliest moments.

One of the many things I had learned in Volterra was that our kind only ever had one spouse for the entirety of our existence. Given my values, the knowledge pleased me and relieved me of many of the concerns that had lain hidden in the back of my mind. I had not come across many single females through the years, and often mused what would happen regarding diet when I met the one God had planned for me. When Aro and I were not engrossed in our conversation about superiority, we discussed the topic of vampire coupling a few times. He believed that one of the signs that we had encountered our mate was that we changed to accommodate them. Admittedly, since he had shared that with me, I had been more than concerned that the woman for me would require me to join her in consuming human blood, but I had hope that God had in mind someone who would be willing to share my belief in the value of holding human life sacred.

Miss Platt's parents walking back in without Nurse Halstead interrupted that thought.

Putting my confusing and ensuing thoughts aside, once they had entered the curtains, I turned to Mr. Platt informing him and Mrs. Platt, "The bone is set, but it will need time to heal." Pausing, I allowed that information to settle before continuing, "I would like to keep her here for a few days just to make sure it is healing correctly and there are no complications. When she does go home, she will need to keep weight off of it for at least a month."

"A month?" her mother gasped.

Miss Platt had a look like, I told you so.

"Unfortunately so, Mrs. Platt," I confirmed using a stern tone to instil the seriousness of my statement. "The bone will take time to mend, but by God's grace she will recover fully and be healed soon."

Before Mrs. Platt could say anything more, Mr. Platt extended his hand to shake mine and told me, "Thank you, Doctor."

"You are welcome," I replied while shaking his hand in return mindful, as always, regarding the amount of strength I used.

"Yes, thank you Doctor," Mrs. Platt said almost at a whisper with a slight admonished tone while bowing her head the slightest amount.

"You are sincerely welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Platt," I told them. "I will be back to check on her." Then I walked out of the room and returned to my rounds giving the Platts the semblance of privacy.

Oddly, I felt colder as I walked away, as if Miss Platt was the sun and without her I was living in the dead of night. Certainly that could not possibly be the case, as vampires were not affected by temperature. The only reasonable explanation was that her similarities to my human life were creating a sense of familiarity that simply was manifesting on a physiological level, irrelevant of their possibility. A gleefully reckless part of me wanted to consider the prospect that the familiarity might mean something more, but I refused myself the indulgence. If she were meant to signify something momentous to me, then certainly I would feel more than coldness.

Chelsea had described an unwillingness to let the man who became her mate go. At the same time, Aro had tons of stories of vampires who believed a human to be his or her mate only to turn them and find that was not the case. I would not even remotely consider taking a healthy young woman's life over something so banal. Unwilling to allow myself to entertain the thoughts, I put the entire thought process out of my mind.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for the feedback from the last chapter. As always your thoughts and perspective aid in improving my writing. I'm excited to hear what you think about Carlilse's internal world at this point in his life as well as Esme's and Carlisle's interactions in this chapter, along with any changes in him you observe, even if he's not aware of them himself._

 _Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts!_


	3. Crossroads

**Carlisle's colleagues reaction in this chapter was inspired by the character** **Aro Pinero from _Young Love in Old-Fashioned America_ written here on FF by Sara KM.  
**

 **Chapter 3: Crossroads**

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After completing the rounds that Miss Platt's arrival had interrupted and a few other jobs required of me, my feet took me back to Miss Platt's bed. During my travelling I wished that there was some way to repay the gifts she had given me. Oddly enough, it did not miss my attention that my ability to focus and stay in the present was not challenging once I was away from her. If my father were here, he would have insisted that she was some sort of witch who had put some sort of spell on me, and sent her to be burned. Instead, since science along with my own experience had disproven such nonsense, I was left in a quandary.

My curiosity to solve the mystery of Miss Platt eventually brought me to her bedside pulling the curtain to the side. In order to maintain Miss Platt's honour and as was the custom of this hospital I stayed at the end of the bed and cleared my throat, as she was staring off with a contemplative look.

"How are you Miss Platt?" I asked softly, mindful of her nearby neighbours, using the tone I employed with patients.

"I am doing well, Doctor. Thank you for asking," she replied cordially, but appeared sad.

For no explainable reasons, other than my own compassion for others, her sadness bothered me. "Well, it is not everyday I get to treat a sixteen-year-old tree climber," I proclaimed quietly smiling at her, hoping she would know that I was teasing her.

She looked serious all except her eyes that twinkled. "No, I suppose you do not. There are not many of us mystical creatures left," she asserted. There was a sweet bantering note to her tone. Then she winked at me.

Over the centuries, women had winked at me. Usually, it was accompanied with a look of lust and wanting. Hers was not that type of wink. It was a playful teasing kind. Never before could I recall feeling so human. Perhaps that was the element about her what had bewitched me.

From the very beginning of my transformation I had tried to not think too far into the future or dwell on what my continued humanity would have given me. Once discovering my capacity to survive off deer's blood, I had focused on what was presented to me, thereby focusing my mind on the possibilities rather than on my losses. It was incredibly difficult to do so and an act of forced discipline. After enough practice, though, what came to matter was the moment. Not the past, as it could not be changed, and not the future, as it looked too bleak.

Because it seemed wise knowing that the more funds in my account made covering my tracks easier, if ever necessary, I invested and saved and was prudent about my financial matters. Money bought things including freedom and silence, even if I might be loathed to use it in this way. Fortunately, such a case had never presented itself, but I was wise enough to know there might be a day when having more money than was reasonable would be useful. At certain locations my choices had caused a stir, as my abode was not "fitting a doctor," but these complaints gave nothing away about my nature, so did nothing to change their wild guesses at why a doctor would have exiguous housing. My favourite was that I had a benefactor that had paid for my tutelage and we had a falling out. Thus, he had demanded the return of the sums given.

Setting aside everything but the moment and ensuring that my mind stayed focused on the blessings Our Heavenly Father had given me each day became my way of navigating my world. Unfortunately, I was getting worse at it as time went by, as if my emotional disquiet was seeping into my mind. Even though these minimal concerns at times were challenging to push aside, I routinely did. Instead, I preferred to keep front and centre in my mind things like the fact that in my last shift a few human lives had been made a little more comfortable by my hands.

Being able to improve the lot of others, even in the smallest amount, was a gift afforded to few, and one for which I was grateful. The Lord had graced me with blessings and a way to positively use what I was. It was an in-between life. But perhaps it was my punishment for my arrogance that I could truly find and defeat a monster. Ironically, each time I defeated the demon within me a little bit more meant that although I had not overpowered my sire, I was conquering an evil of a kind.

This consistent battle required that my life be predictable and measured, though the thought of Miss Platt's tree adventures pleased me. It seemed like my choice to honour my humanity created a life even slower and steadier than most humans, which made sense given my long life expectancy. Even if my circumstances were dull, they suited me, as truthfully, I had never been much for excitement in my human life either. That thought caused me to smile. Perhaps my enjoyment of the quiet life had something to do with the fact that the last time that I had gone looking for excitement, my body had burned. My mind held the clear memory, despite the transformation, of the excitement surging through my body as our parish had set out. If we were successful in finding true evil, it might demonstrate to my father my worth and gain his approval in so that he would find me a wife and I have a family. Through the years, I had often pondered if my sentiments reflected a true excitement regarding my actions or merely the possible rewards they could have brought me. Although the answer had thus eluded me, I did enjoy these thoughts on my own nature and character.

Psychoanalysis had fascinated me as soon as the first papers had been written on it. Jung's work particularly interested me for the spiritual elements that it added to the discipline. The enlightenment era's rhetoric was thick and heavy in Paris during my first university lessons, and I could not help but agree that a being's mind was its most important instrument, and allowing one's emotions to rule one's life only led to folly, and in my case, grave sin. As usual when my mind wandered to such topics, I pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the task on hand. My working hours certainly were not the time or place to entertain such thoughts.

Shaking my head at her choice of words, I told her in an overly serious tone, "I suspected as much. Then it is a great honour to meet, what must be, the last of a dying breed." And then I bowed, unable to keep the smile off my face.

She giggled at me. It was the most glorious sound. It was as if it came from the heavens.

"Would you do me the honour of allowing me to join you for my break?" I asked cordially.

"Please do, my dear sir. I would run out and fetch you some tea and biscuits, but sadly I am otherwise indisposed," she replied, grinning that mischievous playful smile once more.

Gazing into her eyes, I was lost in the mystery that was Miss Platt.

She maintained the eye contact. She did not shy away, look down, or become nervous.

It was if she had peered into my very soul.

A nurse cleared her throat.

How had she come upon me without my awareness? Fortunately, I was still standing at the end of the bed, so Miss Platt's honour was intact and, hopefully, gossiping about this would be kept to a minimum. Ideally, Nurse Kelly would assume that I was checking on Miss Platt in a professional manner.

"You are needed, Dr. Cullen," she told me.

Closing Miss Platt's curtain, I turned to her and stated, "Lead on Nurse Kelly."

Following Nurse Kelly away from Miss Platt's bed, as she explained the information of the new arrival, I found it difficult to keep my mind focused on Nurse Kelly's words. We had exchanged less than one hundred words and yet Miss Platt had once more captured my full attention. Even though a part of me wanted to focus on each exchange analysing each pause and syllable it broke my rule of staying focused on the present. So, instead I forced the mystery of Miss Platt into the back of my mind and required myself, with some effort, to listen attentively to the case Nurse Kelly had retrieved me for.

Hours had passed before I was no longer needed. My body had an unnatural craving to verify Miss Platt's well-being, as if she had become my source of substance. It was a bizarre experience and completely unexplainable. As I could see no harm at this point in checking in with her, I quietly moved towards her hoping to keep my visit unnoticed by the nursing staff. Upon gaining proximity to Miss Platt, all her vitals indicated that she was asleep. Nevertheless, curiosity got the best of me and to get a better look than was possible looking through the curtains I moved them aside just enough to peek in. She was partially sitting, no doubt due to the splint. Her hands were in her lap with her face tilted to the side. For all intents and purposes she looked like she had fallen asleep reading a book, but without the book. It was an endearing sight.

I experienced a foreign emotion. The closest analogy my mind conjured was the sense that my heart had swelled, despite me knowing that it was anatomically impossible. Then there was this strange desire to run my finger down her temple to her jaw line and to hold her hand. This was neither the time nor place to analyze these thoughts or feelings, so I turned around and went back to work. An hour before the day shift doctor was to arrive, I visited Miss Platt once more, but she was still resting.

After my shift, I went to my bench as usual and said my prayers as usual, but was unable to focus on any of my new patients apart from Miss Platt. Vague recollections from my human life of a young lady from my village that I had been enamoured with kept appearing in my mind. It was almost as if my mind was trying to tell me something that related to my human past, but for the life of me I could not discern its meaning.

During one of our discussions, Aro had commented that I remembered my human life more than most and questioned if this might have been as a result of my diet choice. I had confessed that being ignorant of the fact that most vampires lost their human memories during their burning. Our conversation had left me pondering as to why I was unique in this way. All these years later I still had not made a definitive conclusion.

As the sun rose behind the clouds, my brain attempted to puzzle out how my memory was being triggered by Miss Platt. It seemed that every other strange occurrence happened after my memory retrieval. Consequently, I hoped that by solving the first mystery surrounding Miss Platt that the others would appear be easier to uncover.

Mystery unsolved, but my conscious clear, my decision made, my mind calmer, and the rational world restored, I walked over to the library. While perusing, I could not help but think of Miss Platt in bed with naught to read, which would seem frightfully dull to me. I could not imagine that a tree-climber literati would enjoy sitting in bed all day. After debating with myself of the impropriety, if there was any, regarding giving Miss Platt this small token, it seemed to me that if it was given anonymously, then no inappropriate assumptions could be made by either the nursing staff or Miss Platt. Simultaneously, it allowed me some small way of repaying her. Despite my desire to take my selections to her straight away, I knew that it would only work if done secretly. So, I decided to do something entirely uncharacteristic. After sneaking into the hospital, I waited until she was in need of the facilities. When no one was watching, I silently slipped into her bed area and left the books on top of the night stand. Pleased to have been able to improve her stay in this small way, I travelled towards my dwelling.

Although I was not really thirsty, my unusual reactions to a human and thus behaviour inclined me to hunt before returning home. It was the reasonable precaution. Upon entering my abode, I bathed and changed my clothes for the next shift. Six more shifts including tonight and then I would be leaving for my next placement. Despite my decision regarding Miss Platt, I was unable to keep her far from my thoughts. The words on the page could not hold my attention, which was simply the most ridiculous behaviour I had exhibited since meeting her. For such an irrational thing to rule me was unacceptable. Thus, with great effort, as admittedly it was a challenge, I focused on the task at hand until it was time to leave for the hospital. To my surprise, I found myself humming along the way. At first I did not recognise the tune. After some internal searching, I realized that it was an old hymnal sung frequently in my father's church. Before it had exited my lips I had not even known that it existed in my mind. Just one more thing Miss Platt had given me.

Heading back towards the hospital, my thoughts became once more twisted towards the darker elements I had considered earlier. It seemed with each moment around her, I wanted more. She was distracting me and consuming me. Even though rationally I did not believe in witches, it felt as if she had put a spell on me. A non-rational part of me wanted to spend my whole evening with her, like we were childhood friends prior to taking on our appropriate gendered roles. None of that wishing came close to reality and I wondered more than once what was wrong with me.

She was merely sixteen-years-old still being schooled by the women in her family regarding the skills she needed to be a wife and mother. Sure, by all human accounts of this era she was a woman of marrying age, but in my time she would not have been expected to marry for another three to four years. Not to mention that from my vantage point of over two hundred years watching human development, sixteen seemed far too young to begin starting a family no matter how common the practice.

My tendency to care about others' welfare was one of the qualities I had brought into my second life, at least that was my explanation for becoming a doctor to humans while a vampire. Those qualities that tied me to my lost humanity were held onto tightly. Though melancholy had crept into me over the last century, so slowly that it had gone unnoticed until it had already taken a foothold with me, my suspicion was that its presence was a result of my loneliness, which was a tricky situation to resolve, given my values and way of life. Since leaving Volterra, I had spent little time with others and as the decades had turned into centuries, my isolation had begun to wear on me. Reflecting on these possible reasons for my reactions to Miss Platt, my behaviours being related to the loose connection between her and my memory made the most sense. My reactions were then nothing more than my heart wanting companionship and clinging onto the little that we had shared. Feeling calmer after making that deduction, I evaluated myself and believed myself capable of focusing on my professional role.

Once in the hospital, I fell into the comfortable role of being a doctor, and it was easier to give my attention to the tasks given me than I had expected, a blessing for which I thanked the Almighty. The day doctor was nearly done handing off the patients to me when walking down a corridor towards the next set of beds he teased me, "it would seem that you might have yourself another admirer."

Ensuring that I appeared surprised while also nonplussed, I looked up from the paperwork to him, "Is that right?"

"Yes, Miss Platt, although she is more subtle about it that your other admirers," he told me his tone indicating that he was teasing me. "I swear every maiden lady under the age of twenty-five swoons," he muttered under his breath as if jealous.

"Is that so?" I asked unsure of how to navigate the conversation, since for the first time in my existence this accusation pleased me rather than being an unwanted irritation.

"She is a looker, that is for sure," he continued on as if I had not spoken turning his tone more serious with a touch of brotherly warning, "but you are a talented and young doctor. It would not serve you to marry a farm girl without shoes. If you ever came to the galas, I could introduce you to some lovely ladies of appropriate stature."

Holding my face into a polite smile when I really just wanted to snarl at him, I told him, "That is very kind of you Winter, but as I have said the last time you mentioned it, I am not yet ready to let go of my bachelor ways. I have only a few weeks left and then a new hospital, new city. For now I am enjoying travelling and seeing the world. There is plenty of time to find a woman and settle down."

"Right you are," he agreed with a light slap on my back, and then went back to speaking about the cases.

His words haunted me as much as they had incensed me while I did my rounds once more this time without his accompaniment greeting each patient, checking on aliments, and ensuring their comfort for the time being. As if avoiding her, Miss Platt was at the end of my list. The part of me that knew the folly of the feelings his words brought out in me warred with my desire to defend Miss Platt's virtues.

Intellectually I was firmly aware that his words were meant to be nothing more than a mentor to mentee. No doubt he stated his warning as a kind intervention intended to keep me from tarnishing my reputation and future prospects as a doctor. Social classes were still strongly separated, although more social mobility was possible than in my era. Despite these changes, it seemed that particularly when it came to marriage, that men were expected to find a wife from their own social class. That did not mean that I agreed. Over and over I had seen how following this convention led to unfulfilled lives. It seemed to me that, especially that humans' lives were so short, being bound to someone that would be a good helpmate was a smarter move. At the same time, I had to acknowledge that this view possibly came from a stance of not having that cultural pressure.

Perhaps, as a human I had agreed with the separation of the classes. It was a detail that had been burnt in my turning. In fairness, the few memories Esme's had returned to me appeared to indicate that I too had followed this convention. When I had spent the time slowly dissecting every aspect of those new memories it appeared that the young woman Miss Platt's presence had caused me to remember had been unacceptable to my father and to society. From her attire it was likely that she had been of a lower social class, and I had been forced to observe her from a distance. Whether my interpretations were accurate or not what was certain, however, was that over the years watching human had brought me to the conclusion that love and trust seemed more important in a marriage than how much money you made or a person's family background. Perhaps my own ability to marry outside of social class and to find a mate was another attribute of being a vampire for which I should thank the Almighty.

Nonetheless, it was in these matters that my placement as an outsider was blindingly clear. Even though I was grateful that the day doctor presumed me human and that I would not always be the night shift doctor. In reality, my greatest ambition possible was to care for the patients in peace. There was no chance I could ever be a chief surgeon or anything similar.

Pushing these thoughts aside along with everything else, I took deep breaths, centred myself, and forced my mind to give each patient my full and complete attention. My rounds took quite a while since I was interrupted three times by incoming emergencies, which blessedly did not allow my thoughts to linger over things brewing in the back of my mind for long.

Even though each incoming patient had been quick enough to sort, it was nearly ten in the evening by the time I moved aside the curtain entering into Miss Platt's space. Once my eyes caught her fully with no hindrances, all sense of time, space, and my role was lost completely. She was sitting in the bed much how I had seen her asleep; only, she had one of the library books in her hand.

There was something about her posture that gave me a sense that my body was being warmed from the inside, irrelevant of how my mind tried to argue against the possibility of that happening. In almost the same moment my ears became acutely attuned to her heartbeat, as if no other sound existed. It was a rhythm that pulled me in and drowned me in its sound like a being in a warm bath. My eyes took in how her breathing was shallow and it entranced me with the reality that each exhale contained particles of her essence. It was only as a slight movement of her lips, almost a smirk but not enough to be sure, was I shaken from my enraptured state.

Completely appalled I chided myself in a tone reminiscent of my father, and reminded myself sternly that Miss Platt was no witch as well as that whatever reaction was happening within me must have been from the memory she had conjured. Quickly I composed myself into my role as a doctor. Clearly, she had not heard me enter, most likely too engrossed in her book. It was therefore up to me to speak up. Shaking away my nerves, feeling absolutely silly for my hesitation, although deeply grateful for how human I had felt for those few seconds, I greeted her, "Good evening, Miss Platt."

She looked up in surprise, her eyes large. She looked happy. It was an expression I would want to never leave her features.

After a sharp intake of breath she greeted me, "Good evening, Dr. Cullen." She smiled. "Would you believe that the most incredible stories magically appeared on my bedside table today?" she asked playfully.

"Hmm," I replied as if carefully considering her assertion. "Must be a result of the magical powers you possess. Did you conjure up anything good?" I asked attempting to hold my face stoically.

The contrast to my thoughts just days before was startling. Unintentionally my mind began to muse at how despite my occupation and how it consumed my time, medicine had not combated my melancholy completely. My prior thoughts to Miss Platt's arrival in order to combat the melancholy had centred on purchasing the equipment necessary to run my own experiments, but there had been two obstacles. One, I moved quite a bit, so it seemed a waste, as many experiments I wanted to run would not be at completion when it would be time to move on. Two, the equipment would require more space that I usually rented.

In the midst of those musings had been hope that soon I would be able to live in a bigger city with a larger library collection, as that seemed a more likely possibility to keep my mind occupied than a lab. I had assured myself with a "maybe one day". Maybe one day I could settle in a place longer. So much in my life had already changed since my turning, over the last two hundred years, that even this had appeared possible. If I could become a doctor to humans, 'maybe one day' had not seemed unreasonable. Thus, my hope had not been completely lost. Yet, as I looked at Miss Platt waiting for her response, all of these thoughts suddenly were pushed aside. With her one glance she had made every thought of this nature irrelevant as the melancholy had, at least momentarily, vanished. A small part of me wanted to revaluate the possibility of witches and her being one, but if she contained some extra ordinary power and had used it to give me peace, who was I to press into her nature? No, it seemed kinder and more appropriate to my gratitude to simply accept her gift with appreciation.

"Well," Miss Platt started and then paused evaluating me, "honestly, I did not get very far with the collection of Shakespeare; too dramatic. Each play was interesting and well written for sure, but not my style at all. The history of Europe was interesting. I especially enjoyed looking at the different pictures and seeing the different buildings. Right now I am engrossed in Sherlock Holmes. I am enjoying him immensely."

Her face was so expressive. She had been truly unimpressed if not repelled by Shakespeare. Her eyes were sparking with pleasure as she spoke about buildings, while she had a serious face regarding Holmes like she was trying to solve a mystery, which I suppose she had been doing. I could have looked at her expressions all day.

"Do you mind?" I asked while waving my hand towards the chair.

"No, please," she responded assuredly, but with bashfulness.

Not wanting to get caught by a nurse once more, I was mindful of the happenings around me and sat in a location to ensure that no nurse found me in such a position. The town was small enough that hospital gossip could tarnish Miss Platt's reputation. Why interactions between the sexes had become more censored over the centuries was beyond my understanding. What had helped my displeasure at this alteration, apart from recognising the similarity between people as time went on, was a hope that perhaps things between the sexes would swing the other way over the next centuries coming to something akin to how I had observed female guard vampires being treated. Only God knew, but the idea pleased me.

"I am curious," I began and then paused making sure that questioning her would not offend her before continuing, "what about the buildings interested you?"

Her eyes darted around the space as if she was concerned to voice her response.

I waited joyfully enjoying watching her.

"Well … truthfully?" she hedged talking slowly.

"Naturally; anything less that total honesty is just dull." I smiled at her in a manner intending to be reassuring.

"Indeed." She took a breath through her nose that moved her shoulders and chest, looked at me wearily, and then exhaled. "Well," she paused, as if reconsidering what she was going to say. "In truthfulness, I enjoyed the make of buildings, how the structure interacts with its surrounding, and the use of light. I also enjoyed the art of the building. The decorations used around the windows or on the top of the doors particularly interested me. If such a thing were possible, I would go study it at a college." Her last statement was made with such earnestness, yet such sorrow.

It pained me to hear her voice in such distress, even if it was over a wish. No such profession existed in universities when I had attended in Paris. Nevertheless, I did not doubt that such a thing existed to study in this era. It seemed like new professions and fields of study were popping up every other day.

"What are your obstacles to doing just that?" I asked.

Even though I had guessed at a few, it was probable that there might have been some that I would not have considered. Many things had changed in the human world that I was not aware of, even though I attempted to keep myself abreast. I often was caught off guard with a patient's occupation, as it had not existed in my time, and things were changing quite quickly in the human world in the last century or so. Innovation and industrialization had transformed the spaces in which they dwelt, causing human culture to transform in ways that were a challenge for me to keep up with at times.

"I am a girl." She made this statement authoritatively, and as if it was the answer to this question and every question I might want to ask in the future.

Its definitiveness confused me, however,

"I was aware of that, Miss Platt," I said in a soft teasing tone. "I am a doctor after all." I smiled hopefully in a slightly playful way that would encourage her to explain herself without me becoming rude to a lady.

Her eyes narrowed and she looked at me in an evaluative fashion. "Dr. Cullen, perhaps you are not aware, but girls are not allowed to study those subjects."

Despite the fact that I had guessed that might be the case, the reality of it seemed like a blow. I knew girls were restricted professionally, but before I had never considered the true injustice of her culture's gender expectations and limitations. My memories included no references in order to judge the village in which I had been raised in terms of roles and responsibilities divided by gender, but there must have been some. How I saw the human world all these years later was simple. She was being refused to do something that pleased her solely because of her gender. The arguments for restricting women's professions were present ever since the idea of a profession was made. I had never agreed or really understood these arguments, but before this moment they had been human arguments made to govern human behaviours, something that did not require my attention, much like in the way the years passed me by.

"There is not an exception?" I asked. My face had fallen due to my thoughts.

She shook her head and the smell of her eyes filling with water became apparent. "No. Maybe my daughter could, but it is simply not an option for me."

A small smile lifted my lips at her optimism. She sounded so sure that the world would change and her hope that this might be altered in the future inspired me. Many things had change since my turning. The image this brought if she were to be correct was enjoyable. From my perspective her hope seemed to have some likelihood.

"Since I cannot do that," she continued after a small breath and pause, "I entertained the idea of going to college to become an art teacher. It would not be as exciting, but it would be something."

Genuinely smiling at her idea, I told her earnestly, "I imagine you to be a wonderful teacher."

"Thank you," she responded looking at me calmly, but she must have been somewhat nervous as she had put the book down and had entangled her hands together.

"You are welcome, Miss Platt," I replied politely unsure of what to say next.

She smiled, but there was disappointment still there.

"Shall you, then, be heading to college to study to be an art teacher?" I asked after some moments of silence.

"No," she said with sadness and disappointment shaking her head slightly. "I do not think so."

This time her chin rested on her chest and she was pressing her hands together firmly. For all intents it seemed as if she were holding herself in a stoic manner. Memories came to me of me doing something similar in conversations with my father when he had rejected my request to pursue any interest except to follow in his place in the church. Perhaps unconsciously I had seen something of my human life in this young woman. Not to mention that once more, my prayers of gratitude were silently sent to the Almighty. It seemed that Miss Platt just continued to give to me.

"Oh," was all I knew to say.

Prying seemed rude and, based on my own memories, continuing this topic seemed cruel. Not for the first time, I stopped for a moment and thanked my Creator for the gift of being a doctor and for the opportunities afforded to me, which had allowed me to be able, to do something with myself other than be a vicar.

Miss Platt took in a deep breath before she began talking into her shirt. "My parents think that higher education is wasted on a girl. They are hoping for me to find a suitor soon, preferable one willing and able to take over the farm as I am their only living child."

It was an honour that she would confide something so intimate with me. Concurrently, I had personal experience with the weight in her words. The familial obligation had been something I had only been freed from upon my removal from humanity. In her simple statement it was obvious that that she loved her parents very much, and did not wish to disappoint them. That feeling was one in which I was quite familiar. It endeared me to her even more than I already was, while it also caused me to wish to know a way to free her, so she could take flight.

In the midst of my wishful thinking, a nurse began moving in our direction. Standing I silently put the chair back.

"Glad to hear you are healing as you should, Miss Platt," I stated perfunctorily returning once more to the tone I took when speaking with patients. "It seems to me that you have found a productive means in which to occupy your time during your stay here and it is doing you well. If you need anything, do not hesitate to search out a nurse and ask her for assistance."

She looked at me confused.

Right then Nurse McCarthy entered the ward.

Miss Platt's eyes widened and an understanding appeared. "Yes. Thank you, Dr. Cullen. I will be sure to do that," she told me composing her features quickly.

Winking at her as a way of thanking her for her propriety, I then turned to face the nurse.

"You are needed Dr. Cullen," she informed me.

"Certainly, Nurse McCarthy."

Closing the curtain behind me and continuing following Nurse McCarthy caused that same sense that world had turned cold impinged upon me. After that any moment that could be spared gave me a chance to go over to Miss Platt's ward and to listen to her sleep. Usually these stolen moments also contained me writing bedside notes. Her sounds of life were exquisite in a way that compared to no other human I had encountered prior. Then there was the sense that the coldness dissipated in her proximity, something that was entirely illogical and unexplainable. The end of my shift came too early. Miss Platt was still sleeping when I made my way out of the building and over to my usual bench.

To be truthful to myself would require me admitting that my affection for Miss Platt had only grown in the last twenty-four hours. Tomorrow would be my last opportunity to speak with her. My intent to stay out of her life had not altered. However, there was a part of me that yearned to have just a little bit more time with her. Not to mention the fact that I had not yet properly repaid her. Nevertheless, I had no right to interfere with her affairs. We were strangers, but a part of me did not want us to be. Certainly a friendship with Miss Platt was in poor taste. A woman might have a childhood friend of the opposite gender, but the present human standards for Miss Platt stated that a friendship between us could detrimentally impact her eligibility to marry and potentially lead her on. Then there was the worst of all potential risks to consider–it could potentially expose some element of my nature. Repeating to myself all the rational and logical explanations as to why anything beyond our relationship as patient and doctor was preferred for both parties seemed to work some.

The one image that stopped me dismissing my irrational desires entirely was the resigned look she wore when she explained that college was not an option. It was hard to let that go when I had the financial resources available to chance that on her behalf. It was an extravagant and risky way of repaying her gifts, especially since upon searching myself the awareness came upon me that more than anything I wanted to see her happy. Yet, simultaneously, it was the least I could do for her in exchange for what she had given me. From our conversation it seemed that she really wanted to go to college. However, there were many problems with that desire, particularly her parents, her gender, and her age, in that order. She was sixteen. Her father had full rights over her until she was wed and then those would pass to her husband.

Crossroads lay before me with two possible paths. One, leave my position and Miss Platt as planned. Like I had time and time again, allow my patients, her included, to go on with their lives while praying that I had made at least some small positive difference. Two, inform Miss Platt of my desire to aid her in going to college. The first option was more rational, more reasonable. There were a plethora of reasons why option one was best, including keeping the law. I had seen firsthand what the Volturi did to lawbreakers. Not to mention that I considered myself an honourable man. If she remained in my life in some way there was a chance, with enough time, that she could discover my inhumanity and thereby the law would be broken.

Anything less than walking away was just too risky. Too much was at stake. Even if my presence might mean that she got to go to college, her human life with its connections to friends and family was more important than me and my desire to repay her. The problem was that I had grown attached, and my heart was not so keen on option number one. If option two was chosen and the law were ever to be broken, ideally, I would want to give her the option of her death or to be changed. However, that was a conversation to be avoided at all costs. The only other choice would be to act on her behalf. Killing her outright was barbaric and unacceptable, which left biting her for the purpose of her transforming into my kind. That presented another problem. Although the semantics were clear, what was murky was if I could create another vampire without killing the individual. Then there was the fact that I had yet to have more than a few drops of human blood on my tongue. Not to mention, there was my fear of what might happen if I did allow it past my lips in the quantity that was needed. A few drops were not same as a mouth full, or possibly more. In fifty or even a hundred years I might be ready for such a thing. But as things stood, the risks in option two were too great. I would not rob her of her future.

Ultimately, therefore, to keep her human and alive prevented me from being in her life. How easy to way to wish that things were simpler like the village of my youth. Living a life of lies did not suit me, even if it was required. Option two was dirty and messy and fraught with peril. My dislike for option two only slightly stronger than for option one. Despite these reasonable and rational conclusions, my heart was not easily convinced and was searching desperately to find an alternative, thereby creating an option three, without which I was stuck.

My conversations with Aro came to mind once more, as well as the one with Garrett that I had recalled on my way to work only days ago. The fundamental obstacle for keeping Miss Platt in my life was my morals and my ideals. If I had been able to see the world through Aro's lens, or maybe even Garrett's the decision would not have been such a struggle, but I was not them. I could not change the man my father formed me to be any more than they could change how the events of their lives had shaped them. There was no escape from my father's lessons about evil and to guard ourselves from temptation, even after my transformation. In fact, rather than reject them in my new form, I had clung to them. In many ways, more than I possibly wanted to admit, I was my father's son. The time and place in which he had raised me along with his own journey had shaped me in ways visible and invisible. This reality was in part why his words that I lacked faith still stung.

It took me all of a handful of minutes to realize that my thoughts had the potential to allow me to forget to behave humanly, and I would be unable to stay at my bench and pray as usually. Slowly and with focus on my surroundings, as to distract myself from my thoughts, I stood up and walked home not bothering with the library at all. All of the remaining morning and most of the afternoon passed with me sitting in my favourite reading chair statuesque warring internally.

After much analysis, I began to see my quandary with clarity. The fundamental issue was that the emotions that Miss Platt had inspired within me were in conflict with my morals. My melancholy had travelled with me for so many decades, and she had brought me strong positive emotions that I had not felt in over a century. She had awoken human memories inside of me that had been previously lost. Then there was the fact that I saw so much of my younger self within her struggles. At a primal level not only was my heart opposed to losing the joy and buoyancy she had brought into my life, but also my compassion and care for her struggle bound me to her in a way that had not ever happened with a human that had crossed my path before. Additionally, this was the first time I had taken the time to get to know a patient in this way. Yet, to give into my heart and take life from another for my own selfish cravings and desires was against the man my father had raised me to be.

Eventually when my thoughts seemed increasingly repetitive, I brought out my father's Bible. It was the book that had guided him, and although we had not seen eye to eye on many issues, hopefully it would guide me with my current ruminations. Seeing that wisdom was needed, Proverbs seemed like a good place to start. With purpose, my eyes took in each verse slowly trying to digest and understand what each word might say about my present situation often calling up what I had learned over the years regarding ancient Hebrew and interpretations. Feeling none the more wiser or having any firmer of a decision, nonetheless when the time of day came, I got ready for work. If nothing else, what my readings had done was remind me to trust in the Divine workings of the universe. Doing so had allowed me to become a doctor. I could trust that direction would be given. The answer would come.

Entering the hospital the distraction work would provide was particularly appreciated. Despite the lateness of the hour when the day staff doctor was able to go over the cases with me, there were fewer patients and less walk-ins than the previous night. This fact allowed me to enter Miss Platt's private space at half past eight. It was like I was a moth caught by her flame.

My rational mind kept trying to convince me that she was just a patient, the same as any other. Consequently, my excitement at the prospect of visiting her and my desire to spend more time with her than doing my job unnerved me. How one girl had managed to eclipse the very thing I had striven for close to three hundred years was disconcerting. Despite my internal confusion and upheaval, along with my mental attempts to put myself in proper order, I found myself nearing her bed in disarray. Seemingly unable to walk away as there were no pressing concerns, I allowed myself this indulgence, especially given the ever approaching moment of her discharge.

"Well good evening there, Dr. Cullen," she greeted me as soon as my hand began to pull back the curtain.

Smiling shyly I was unsure of what to make of her greeting or the fact that somehow she had known it was I solely from my hand.

"Good evening, Miss Platt," I replied completing my movement of pushing the curtain aside. "How are we feeling this fine evening?" I asked trying to fool myself and perhaps even to manage to believe that me standing at the end of her bed was for medical reasons only.

She smiled like my words were some inside joke.

Whatever the joke was, I did not know it.

"I am well thanks to you," she told me her heart beating a little faster than her resting speed.

Taking in a deep breath through my nostrils, I measured and categorized every particle. Her scent indicated nothing to suggest why her heart rate had increased.

Continuing she told me, "The earlier doctor tells me that I have healed enough to return to my home tomorrow when my parents are able to retrieve me."

A sadness crept into me that took me off guard. Despite the strange reaction, I smiled. After a few seconds of reflection, it dawned on me that even though I had spent, what amounted to less than an hour, in her awakened presence, I disliked the idea of not having more time to speak with her. Standing there with a polite smile on my face, I reviewed all the friends that I had made over the years. Certainly I had been sad when we had parted company and looked forward to seeing him or her again, but never with a human. What did that mean? Did I want to be friends with her? Much of my strange reactions to her seemed to indicate that was the fact. But given what a friendship between us would cost her, the only reasonable conclusion was that this was a temptation that needed to be resisted like human blood.

Getting my mind off these tormentuous thoughts, I focused instead on what Miss Platt had said. Although, hospital protocols being what they were, I had been aware of these facts yesterday, it seemed improper to point that out to her.

Not knowing what else to say I replied cordially, "I am glad to hear that you are well enough to return home."

Thoughts of going to her home and introducing myself to her parents in a non-medical capacity filled my mind as if they were a hopeful daydream.

In a strange reaction to my words her eyes became downcast. She began mumbling, her lips barely moving. " … mother says … it would not be very lady-like … to lose …"

Merely standing patiently forcing myself to twitch and move in the unnatural ways that created the appearance of humanity, I waited for whatever struggle she was going through to be completed. While waiting I also attempted to make out her words even though fairly certainly they were not meant to be heard.

Finally she looked up at me with sadness and fear in her eyes, while her cheeks had increased in blood flow slightly, giving them a blush pink appearance.

Nothing came to mind regarding what she would want to say that could create such a reaction within her.

"Well," she started and then paused, "you see," she began once more and again faltered, "Dr. Cullen," she stated her voice cracking slightly from nerves, I suspected, and then paused speaking. "Um, I was wondering," she said calmly enough, but then stopped once more, "well," she sputtered, "if you would be willing to come and inquire about me in my home in a few days time?" She said the last part in such a rush that the sentence crammed together as if it were one word.

Mentally I replayed her whole attempt, slowing the last part down. It was on my second review that her intent hit me. Clearly, she was wishing for me to visit her at her home. The fact that I had just imagined the same thing did not pass my notice.

The two paths that I had been debating all day were once again thrust upon me. On the left I could follow what was obviously the most rational choice. On the right I could follow my yearnings to spend more time with her. Like a flash I saw the road the rational choice would take me: more of the same. It was certainly the safer choice–for both of us.

Then, for a moment, the lesson regarding faith from my scripture readings came to me. Was that what God was trying to tell me? That this was a moment to act on faith? What would that look like in this situation? Dismissing the notion nearly as soon as it had arisen, I concluded easily that this was not a moment for faith. This was a moment for rational thought. This was why I had become a scientist and not a theologian. The logical choice had never led me astray before. It would not in this situation either.

Opening my mouth to politely decline, my chest felt like it began to ache, a strange sensation to say the least. Nevertheless, I found the strength to tell her, "I am not sure that is a good idea, Miss Platt. Although I have enjoyed our conversations, I am finishing up my position shortly and am scheduled to start a new one far away in merely five days," I explained making my voice soft and kind.

As the words began to exit my mouth, I could smell the salty liquid indicating tears had begun to pool in her eyes. She must have received my words, despite my intention and my tone, as a rejection. Her mumblings made more sense with this new awareness. She must have believed herself to have taken a huge risk to be so forward. My recollections reminded me that in this era women were forbidden by propriety to be so forward. Scolding myself, I reviewed my knowledge on the constraints put on women in this era and culture. Sufficiently admonished, I felt the need to ease the inadvertent blow that had been delivered.

"Even if I was not leaving town, Miss Platt, I will not be here tomorrow when your father arrives in order to garnish his permission to call upon you," I told her in the same soft and kind tone, hoping my words would ease any personal affront she might have felt.

She stared at me as if the reminders of her gendered restrictions irritated her. "I would dare say my mother would be glad for me to have any male callers at all, Father's permission or not," she mumbled under her breath.

It was as if she held a magical formula; each statement she spoke brought me back to my crossroads asking me, once more, to look at the evidence. It was agonizing. The gifts she had given me indebted me to her, while at the same time my need to do what was right pulled at me with great force. The phrase 'pride comes before a fall' came to mind, but seemed inapplicable. Certainly my refusal to give into my selfish desire, to hold onto the emotions she stirred within me and thus condemn her was not pride. At a loss I stood at the end of her bed trying to figure out what to say, since her words would have been inaudible to a human, while the familiar footsteps of Nurse Halstead approached.

"Well, Miss Platt, I am glad to hear that this will be your last night here. Good night."

Turning I exited closing the curtain behind me.

"Good night, Dr. Cullen," she whispered as I walked away internally torn between two foreign sensations wanting to flee and desiring to return.

* * *

 _A/N: As this story has garnished such a small readership, I am immensely appreciative to each of you. Thank you once more for leaving your thoughts and reactions. It is a great encouragement._

 _Also, I apologise if the chapter felt too long. I tried hard to keep it about 8K, but clearly failed._

 _Added note: I am not sure of what cannon says regarding Esme's human family. Any deviation from cannon in this regard is not purposeful._


	4. Recrudescing Crossroads

**Chapter 4: Recrudescing Crossroads  
**

* * *

Expectedly, I ran into Nurse Halstead searching for me.

"Oh, good, are your rounds complete, Dr. Cullen?" she checked.

Nodding I struggled to give her my full attention as part of me was back with Miss Platt wanting to comfort her and stay by her side.

Just as my mind began to really delve deeply into my unprecedented desires, she informed me, "We have just had an emergency come in: a serious injury needing surgery. Are you available to take the case?"

"Of course, Nurse Halstead," I told her giving into the part of me that wanted to run away from these odd occurrences. Consequently, her request was appreciated, as it gave me a distraction from my thoughts and these aberrant sensations.

Hours later the poor man who had been nearly trampled to death by a horse should live to see another day. With the use of my vampiric capacities combined with decades of experience I had been able to find and close the wounds to his veins, realign his bones, and sew him completely up. He would probably have a limp for the rest of his life, but it was the best outcome considering the condition in which he had arrived. Although I had managed to place my complete focus on the task on hand while working on him, as soon as my outer garments meant for surgery were discarded and this man's blood and scent from my hands had been washed away, my thoughts wandered back to Miss Platt.

Being obliged a break, which most doctor's used to take a smoke, no one would come looking for me for about ten minutes. Giving into the part of me that wanted to be near her, I found myself entering Miss Platt's bed space to find her asleep with a book resting in her lap. Exhaling with what felt like a tremendous weight upon me, I stood for a few seconds examining her, attempting to figure out the mystery that was Miss Platt and why of all the humans over all the years I was behaving so uncharacteristically with her.

Even though more than a few seconds passed, I had reached no greater understanding. Rather than going round and round in circles with no end in sight, I carefully removed her book from her lap, placing a piece of paper that had been on the side table at the open page as a bookmark. Inserting the paper scrap, I noticed a note in what presumably was Miss Platt's handwriting.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

In case you change your mind and have the courage to ask my father when you arrive, I can be found at North Willow Lane five miles in the south-westerly direction.

Kindly,

Miss Esme Platt

Esme; it was like a whisper of unspoken things. Her file said Esme, but it was different seeing it written in her own hand. It was impossible to deny that this was not medically related. She had shared a part of herself voluntarily with me, and was politely inviting me into this intimate part of her life. The last time someone had been so generous personally, without unsuitable motives, might have been Aro or Demetri, or perhaps Garrett, but there had been some involuntary elements with Garrett on his part that bonded us simply due to my promise to keep quiet. Miss Platt was certainly the first female in my existence to have done so. The only motives I could presume on Miss Platt's part might have been that she was offering friendship or desiring a courtship. Either of those possibilities once again brought me to my crossroads. Unwilling to give even more of hospital time to those cogitates, effort was exerted to push these musings out of my mind, as I tucked the paper between the pages. As a distraction, I decided to check in on my other charges in case they had woken and with great effort put her note along with its implications into the smallest corner of my mind.

At the end of my shift, I could hear that Miss Platt was awake, but cowardly headed straight out, going back to my bench bothered that seeing her again might cause me to act in an irrational manner. It was unfathomable what poor behaviours might manifest in any poor attempts on my part to keep my disquiet at bay. Nonetheless, avoiding even the possibility of such action seemed wise. Reflecting over my interactions with Miss Platt was less than helpful. The elements of my crossroads were the same. Nothing had changed except the pull in my heart that asked me to consider the less rational choice.

Upon returning to my village before coming to America, I had found my marker in the village graveyard. It had made no mention of being a husband or father. That small bit of information had assured me that my lack of memories of a significant relationship or children was accurate. Gratefully abandoned children or a spouse had not been a cost of my burning. Since the start of my second life, especially after my time in Volterra, I had been appreciative for how much of my human memories had been retained, especially for their accuracy, as the tomb had confirmed. Yet somehow, sitting on my bench unable to leave Miss Platt mentally behind in the hospital, I wished that my there were even more human memories. My recent mental rummaging was almost like the behaviour I had witnessed in my fellow doctors when they had a book or journal or paper they needed and could not find it.

Rather than thankfulness there was irritation and frustration. Although it could have been amusing and pleasing to observe my inner workings appearing so human, it was a sensation that so unnerved and unbalanced my internal equilibrium that I nearly wanted it put it behind me by acting like life was akin to my pre-Miss Platt days. Each time my pusillanimity threatened to overtake me my recourse was to remind myself that being human was not always pleasant. If I truly wanted to keep a strong connection to humanity, then it was required to take the unpleasant with the same attitude as the pleasant. My brain attempted to sooth my discomfort by searching for questions and then answers, assuming that solving these questions would put things at ease. One such question was: why I had been enthralled with this young lady of my memory? In the memories there was a sense of longing and a small sense of loss, but neither reason nor explanation. In fairness the memory and the feelings associated with it were as equally strange as the fact that Miss Platt had triggered them at all. Even looking through the muddy haze of the human recollection as closely as I could brought little understanding as to why exactly Miss Platt had triggered it.

As I reviewed my behaviour with Miss Platt, one thing that seemed a likely possibility was that my momentary stunned reaction to Miss Platt was similar to what it had been with this unnamed woman from my village. What that might mean, exactly, was completely out of my grasp. After much contemplation the only absolutely firm conclusion I reached was that irrelevant of the similarities, in this case, Miss Platt was human and I was not. Where a relationship with the young woman of my village might have been feasible, that option was not even available in this case.

Once more Aro's and my arguments came to mind. If I were to have agreed with Aro, the solution would be simple. I would bite her, transforming her into a superior creature in comparison to what she once had been. Then, with her and I being of the same species the possibility of what might develop between us would be obtainable. From his beliefs she won either way. Given my contrary views both to this action and the hegemony beliefs surrounding it, the idea of forcing her to change her species and become a vampire for my own curiosity was repulsive.

Then there was the fact that she had so much of her human life ahead of her. Assuredly any interactions with me outside of my role as a doctor would derail her from those opportunities. A part of me wanted to reject this line of thinking and be more selfish, but it simply was not in my character. It was not very hard to acknowledge that connection with my past or not, I had enjoyed our interactions in a manner that was rare. The remembrance of my enjoyment of her company caused my thoughts to move along paths that had been largely ignored for over a century: perhaps Miss Platt was a temptation sent by the devil.

The idea that women were witches or worse enchantresses was something that over time I had come to reject entirely, as there had simply never been evidence ever even after a century. Certainly, a female vampire could enchant a human male. Thus, I had concluded that the human ideas of female mythical power designed to lure Godly men into hell were their attempt to explain the abilities of vampires. Despite my rejection of these ideas and a lack of evidence, as time moved on, they had still seemed to influence societal thought. Since the ending of female burnings, like my father had championed, women seemed to lose whatever place they had held in society and appeared more and more controlled and restrained in their choices.

The idea that the devil would put her in my path as a temptation like I was some Job seemed as equally preposterous. Not to mention, that even if there was any merit to that idea, it was a poor attempt, as logic, not to mention my moral code, had kept me righteous, as much was possible, all these years. They would not fail me. The proper course of action was to make her life as pleasant as I could while she was my patient, thank the Heavens for the gifts she had afforded me, and send her on her way. Yet, for the first time I felt empathetic to those men who had experienced fear regarding a woman of their desire and had blamed the woman for their fear.

What was needed on my part was to remain rational. She would be discharged; of this there was no doubt. My life was lonely, which had admittedly affected my overall mood, but I had possibly saved a man's life last night. That had to account for something. Although I could not deny the gifts she had given me, the obvious conclusion was that it would be better for things to go back to how they had been before meeting her. Whatever my reactions to her were, my trust needed to reside in the rational mind. It was what had kept me on the straight and narrow thus far. It sounded all very reasonable. Except, there was a part of me that cringed at having to go back to my disquieted life of recent decades. It had not been purgatory by any means, but it paled in comparison to the aliveness I had been experiencing these past few days.

Feeling torn in two, I spent a few hours even after the sun had risen behind the clouds at my bench praying. Eventually when even my praying did not seem to be aiding my turmoil, I walked to the library, but it did not hold the same appeal. Taking a few books perfunctory, I walked towards home. My only remaining aspect of my daily habits that had not yet been tried was hunting. Not knowing what else to do once back home, after placing the books mechanically on a table, I walked the miles it took to enter the forest. My awareness and thoughts were so distracted that I came to the edge of the woodlands without any notice of my surroundings. In fact it was only once I stood in the midst of the woods that my dazed-typed state dissipated. Cognisant of the need to focus on tracking I stilled myself completely, and took in a deep breath listening to all the wondrous sounds of God's amazing creation. Eventually the scent of a fox was mixed in with the breeze. Taking my time tracking it, there was no reason to rush, as attempting reading today would be a task in futility.

When my eyes finally caught sight of it, I watched it in admiration as it went along in its business of being a fox. Offering a silent word of thanks for God's provision, making sure to not scare the creature unnecessarily, I pounced and broke its neck in one motion and drank. Foxes were not large, but they were in abundance and a nuance to the local farmers. It was a pleasant thought that my hunting habits helped the locals in some way. Whether it actually did or not was never known to me. After finishing in draining him and burying him, I decided to go for one more.

Upon returning home, there was just enough time to bathe thoroughly ridding myself of any evidence of hunting before heading off to the hospital. My last days were completed in an almost perfunctory fashion. To my surprise I yearned to visit with Miss Platt once more. Every morning, since her release, after arriving at my bench, I would reassess my decision. Nothing had changed. The equation was the same every time. At the end of my last shift the head surgeon asked to see me. Appreciation was extended and I mentioned that a reference might be requested in the future. Reassurances were given. Handing in everything that belonged to the hospital, I left for the last time.

Heading home, I boxed up everything. As was my custom, all but two bags were sent ahead by post. The postal service was useful, but unreliable, thus my need to keep enough clothes with me for at least the first week. As my custom, I planned on spending some time hunting preferring to arrive somewhere new as satiated as possible, since the environment encountered upon my arrival would be unknown. At some hospitals my appearance had been greeted with four days straight of shifts, other places only a few hours for the first few days were requested. My preference was to be prepared for more work than less. In the past each of these activities would have given me a sense of excitement and anticipation. Instead, I felt heavy and wooden. Additionally, through my work my mind kept bringing up the few moments Miss Platt and I had spent together, reliving the complex befuddling reactions that had been stirred within me. Thus, I ended up nearly constantly thinking of her while going about my tasks.

The day before needing to leave for good a walk seemed perspicacious. It was a fine cloudy day. The perfect day for a contemplative stroll. Lost in my thoughts I had not registered that my feet had been taking me in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Platt's residence until coming across a Y in the road. Stunned I stopped in my wanderings. The left road looped round and would end up near my abode. Alternatively, veering right would take me closer to the address that Miss Platt had provided.

Could I be a man of science and have faith? Science, even in the psychology field, seemed to almost scorn faith. The scientist in me wanted to go left. It was the path that most closely matched my rational decisions. The young man in me who saw the good that his father's faith had done in our parish urged me to follow my heart, have a little faith, trust that God Almighty gave good gifts, and go right. The right path held a similar excitement that had resulted in my transformation. There was something risky and dangerous about it because it asked me to place my future into the unknown. My rational mind was against anything risky in that way. Last time it had not ended up so great for me, despite all the blessings God had given me in my second life.

It was once more one of those moments where my father's words accusing me of lacking faith resounded strongly within me. Nothing would change that I was a rational being. Truthfully, my decision had already been made; it was the most logical, as well as moral, one. Despite my father's attempts to form me into his image, he could not. Sad but confident in the knowledge that this was the best choice for both of us I set my mind to veer to the left.

At the last second, my feet turned and went right. Such a thing had never happened before. There was no distinction between the vampire mind and body. What the mind decided the body did. This simple deviant movement was extraordinarily strange. Despite it being contrary to my choice, I took it as a sign from the Almighty, and rejoiced in the hope that maybe there was a bit of faith within me. The remaining journey was spent praying fervently that wisdom of what to do next would come to me, and hoping that it was the right choice to not turn around to go back to my abode.

A sensation, not terribly unlike what I remembered feeling before finding that coven in the sewers, began to fill me. It was uncharted territory with me having no idea of what words to speak upon my arrival. To combat my nerves I began to contemplate every scenario that might be encountered and then created the most appropriate human responses. It did not take long for me to become aware of how little I was versed about human social interactions outside the hospital and fundraisers. For instance, I had practically no acquaintance with of how this era's gentlemen called upon young ladies. Apart from being completely out of my depth, honestly I was scared. Once this awareness hit me, I began chuckling at myself. For the first time since meeting the Volturi, I was apprehensive, not for what I might do, but for what might happen to me. Even though the feeling of fear was not pleasant, at least it could be said that there was no melancholy in me. The adventures Miss Platt had brought into my life seemed to have cured me of it.

My sentiments in comparison to reality seemed ironic. Certainly the Platts could not hurt me, and if I were akin to my fellow vampires, the most likely course of action, if they displeased me, would be to simply take their blood. I shuddered at how easily my kind took sentient life. Certainly my nerves had nothing to do with being concerned of physical harm, as they had in Volterra. Additionally, my years of practice gave me confidence that the Platts would never suspect my nature. In the worst case they would belief me to be an unclothed barbarian and send me on my way disgraced.

No, what had me anxious was much more basic: fear of rejection. Without a doubt, refutation was unpleasant. However, in this case, I reminded myself repeatedly, Mr. Platt sending me away would actually be the best outcome for many reasons, least of which was that him doing so would give me a clear answer to my prayers for direction and guidance in regards to Miss Platt. In the midst of my unease existed many other emotions, and the actualized experience of so much feeling coursing through me was exhilarating, despite most of these sentiments being disagreeable. It had been decades since I had felt so engaged in my world, if not greater than a century.

Choosing to trust that the Good Lord would keep me on the righteous side of the law and give me the words needed gave me the strength to keep moving forward. The simple act of following my heart in this small way enhanced my faith, which caused me to smile. Perhaps taking some risk was worth the new opportunities for growth that it contained. While walking and praying my fear turned into trepidation. Apprehension had been a near constant companion of mine when living in Volterra, as I was neither of their coven, of the guard, agreeable to their ways, nor knowledgeable about etiquette protocols upon my arrival.

Easily, Aro could have ended me upon that first introduction to court. Instead, over time, we became friends and grew to appreciate each other's opinions, not to mention that he had been unnecessarily kind and hospitable during my time there. If Volterra had been manageable, I would muddle through an encounter with three humans. At least this was what I told myself over and over. My memories and the confidence boost they gave me were welcomed. It was a few hours past midday when North Willow Lane made itself known. Turning onto the lane, a house stood out that had the slightest tinge of Miss Platt's scent in the air.

Moving into the driveway, there was a dirt path leading to their home. Paying attention to the scenery would have been wise, but I heeded it little. Instead my mind was consumed with what lay ahead. Consequently, the details of the house received scant awareness. Upon reflection I could say that there was a garden and a porch, which required three steps to climb. What did hold my attention was that on the porch were wooden chairs and in one chair with a book in her hand was Miss Platt.

For much longer than was suitable my eyes would not leave her person unsure of what to do next. She carried on as if she had not noticed my approach. Most likely, my nearing had been too quiet, given my lack of paying great attention to myself in that way, even though it was second nature at the hospital and when walking in town. The other possibility was that she had been too engrossed in the page to hear me. Minutes continued to pass while I attempted to reason out what to do. Eventually I decided to resolve my deliberations by clearing my throat.

She ventured her eyes up. A genuine look of surprise and then pleasure grew on her face. "Oh! Dr. Cullen, I am ever so glad that you were able to call on me," she exclaimed smiling ear to ear while her eyes twinkled.

Never could I recall receiving such a warm welcome. It unsettled me. Finally, I collected myself enough to asked cordially, intending to hide the emotional turmoil that had accompanied me here. "Is your father in, Miss Platt?"

Her smiled faded a little. "No, but my mother is in the house. Knock loudly and she is bound to hear you." She was nearly frowning by this point. "Probably on her way, already," she grumbled too softly to be heard by human ears.

Giving Miss Platt one more glance, I turned towards the door. Mrs. Platt was already on the way, but propriety dictated that I knock nonetheless.

When Mrs. Platt opened the door she smiled warmly, but there was cunningness in the look of her eyes that was disconcerting.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Platt. If it begs your pardon, I came to call upon Miss Platt." My tone and manner of speech reminded me more of my English upbringing than the American accent I had tried hard to acquire over the years.

She looked at me as if judging my worth. After a few moments she asked, "You that doctor that treated our Esme in the city?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

"Well, then." She took a breath inward. "Would this be a social call?"

Thinking about the question and all that it implied, especially as I was no longer a doctor in the area I replied, "Yes ma'am."

She nodded as if my words merely confirmed her suspicions. "In that case, you may join Esme on the porch. May I get you some coffee or cider?"

"No thank you ma'am," I told her politely adding, "Thank you anyway" just in case.

She huffed, "All right," then stared at Miss Platt until Miss Platt looked directly into her mother's gaze. "Not long, Esme. I will be needing you in the kitchen soon." Then she moved back into the house leaving the door open.

Taking the other chair that was on the porch, I moved it closer to Miss Platt, but made sure to keep it at a respectable distance. The gap between us was almost tripled than it had been at the hospital.

"How have you been, Miss Platt?" I inquired nervously suddenly tongue-tied.

She took in a breath and paused as if contemplating a response. Perhaps she was nervous as well, despite her being the one to extend the invitation. "Healing well," she told me with sweet tenderness and admiration. "And you?" she asked cordially her tone reserved lacking the forwardness she had displayed at the hospital.

Hesitating I was uncertain as how to interpret what she had spoken or how to answer. The answer depended on my intentions, which were a mystery to myself.

After a few seconds pause I blurted out, "I leave tomorrow" unwilling to have the silence linger any longer and knowing that courage was needed.

It was not the polite reply expected in mixed company, but it was what mattered. Our time was limited and I wanted to come to a resolution.

"I see," she exclaimed looking forlorn.

Was it possible that she had grown inappropriately attached to me? Other female patients and colleagues had in the past, but this seemed different in an intangible way. Quickly I reviewed all of our interactions to ensure that I had never behaved in a manner, which might have suggested advances. There seemed to be none. Certainly her resemblance to the woman of my village, her quick wit, honesty, and struggles regarding her dreams verses her obligations to her parents had created a sense within me of being connected to her that was foreign. Nonetheless, our conversations, although not strictly professional, I evaluated as being nothing more than friendly.

We sat in silence as I tried to contemplate what might come of this conversation.

It was Miss Platt whom broke our silence. "Might we stay in correspondence, then?"

The question took me by surprise, which certainly showed on my features. Her suggestion was peculiar. My human memories regarding correspondence were for business purposes only, very similarly to how I presently used the postal service. Exchanging letters of a personal nature, unless Aro were to be counted, was an unfamiliar activity. Certainly a friendly letter every half century or so was not what she meant. My correspondence with Aro was in appreciation of his hospitality and the generosity of knowledge that he had shared, as well as my awareness that my success as a doctor would delight and puzzle him. They often had the air of a subject reporting to a kind. Therefore, it was reasonable to conclude that my reasoning of why I corresponded with Aro, or him with me, would have no correlation with her motivation for her request. Consequently, I was at a loss.

Knowing no other way to quench my confusion, I asked her outright, "Miss Platt, if you would pardon my confusion and bluntness, but whatever for?"

Then she looked as confused as I felt.

Realizing my faux pas and not wanting to have her ask questions where lying might be required, I instead told her earnestly, "I apologize." After a brief pause while her features appeared less inquisitive I continued, "I suppose it is my fault, really. I have never needed to explain my occupational habits to anyone," all the while stealing a sideways glance at her.

She seemed to be genuinely curious while patiently waiting for me to continue, which was far better than confused. Curious could be steered in safer territory. Confused, especially for a mind like Miss Platt's who like Sherlock Holmes, could lead to her wanting to solve a puzzle that could cost her everything.

It seemed that the best way forward at this point was to expand upon what I had shared in our previous exchange in order to create for her a coherent narrative.

"Well, you see, I am a fill-in doctor of sorts. Hospitals and clinics post temporary positions. They can be as short as a few months, but I prefer the ones that are a year or so. A hospital might need an extra pair of hands, but are not yet ready to make a permanent position available. Even if the contract is for, say, three years, after a year they might decide they no longer need me and terminate my employment," I explained keeping an eye on her to see if she understood and the indicators of confusion continued to decrease.

She nodded for me to continue.

"I do it because I like to travel and try new places. I do not have a permanent address and do not have anyone I have ever corresponded with in the manner you suggested previously. My only experience with using the postal service is for employment purposes."

Her eyes looked sad, but carried this compassionate empathy that baffled me.

Did she feel bad for me for the life I had chosen? There were no clear answers.

"I see," she whispered nearly to herself.

Fortunately both her words and her body language indicated that she was no longer confused.

Though all the parts of her behaviours thus far baffled me, what became immediately clear was that I did not like seeing her sad. Although changing my species was impossible and did not want to change my lifestyle, perhaps there was something that could be done for Miss Platt. Inspiration came to my mind and I felt a burden lift as if receiving an answer to prayer. It was ironic that it was Miss Platt herself and her question that had been the catalyst. Perhaps this was why God had chosen to bring Miss Platt into my life in a way that created such a mysterious yearning within me. Yes, this was the answer, I decided, but first the matter at hand.

"That is not to say that we could not correspond, Miss Platt, with your father's permission, of course," I told her cordially attempting to assuage any hurt my blunt response might have caused her. "I did not intend to dismiss the merit of your suggestion, but simply to point out possible obstacles."

A small smile started to spread across her face.

Relieved that any small hurt she might have experienced had passed, I carried on expressing my idea. "You see, Miss Platt, I found your wish to receive an education moving. I came here today with the intention of speaking with your father about being your benefactor, but would not want to do so without your explicit permission."

Her small request had resolved my concerns regarding the second option I had considered and had created the third way my heart had yearned to find. It was such a simple solution, yet one that had not even crossed my mind prior. It allowed me to give her the opportunity to move beyond her familial obligations without actively being in her life.

Her mouth dropped open and she sat with a dumbfounded look on her face for much longer than I was comfortable. She seemed to have a strange combination of disappointment, restrained joy, and doubt.

Sitting patiently, I worked at remembering to fidget despite my nervousness and, therefore, my internal desire to be still.

Eventually she seemed to come out of her trace speaking in disbelief, "I apologise, Dr. Cullen, but I believe I misheard you."

Smiling but worked to contain my mirth, it dawned on me that never in my long years had I managed to bewilder someone so thoroughly. It was delightful. Perhaps, I had done something similar to Aro when we had first met. Our kind's nature allowed us to hide our reactions supremely well, so there was no way to be certain, but maybe this was what had intrigued Aro regarding me. He had stated in each and every of his responding letters his enthusiasm for my correspondence.

For a twenty-fourth of a second I resented that lifestyle caused others mirth, but then it was gone replaced with appreciation. If God had made me in such a way that my way of being in the world gave others pleasure, it was a gift. Certainly Aro's life must be weighted with boredom and at least some of the quiet discontent that I had been experiencing, given his age. If my oddities could liven it a little, what harm did that do? Not to mention that Miss Platt's response to me had brought me a feeling that I had not experienced in so long that its very presence was surprising and delightful.

Mrs. Platt's movements indicated that she had overheard my offer and Miss Platt responded, as was to be predicted. She was merely being a diligent mother and ensuring that nothing untoward happened between a non-family member male and her daughter, since that was her expected role for this era.

After many minutes had passed, Miss Platt seemed to settle into herself a bit. "Dr. Cullen, I must have mistakenly heard you," she insisted again.

Perhaps, my offer or delivery had given her too much of a fright. Patients had behaved in such a manner, not commonly, but enough that it was familiar. It was like the human mind sometimes refused to take in information due to shock or disbelief.

Modulating my voice to the one I used on my patients to penetrate this resistance, I told her, "Miss Platt, I am entirely serious in my intention of requesting your father's permission to be your benefactor so that you might become a teacher, assuming you are agreeable."

Her eyes glazed over and she seemed to be in some kind of odd drunken haze.

Never before had this approach caused that reaction on someone. It was entirely puzzling and a bit concerning. I couldn't help but wonder what had caused it. Over and over again, without even meaning to, Miss Platt kept adding to my life.

Nevertheless, after a few moments, she shook her head and then nodded.

Eyeing her quizzically, I questioned, "Is that a yes, Miss Platt?"

"Yes," she squeaked in two octaves higher than she normally spoke.

Giddy with delight, I tried to recall the last time such an emotion had been prominent. It proved to be a pointless exercise, as there simply was not one. Perhaps some good other than hoarding for a bad day could come of my accumulated wealth.

My anxiety and fears relieved, I could not help but tease her a little. Moving my head slightly, to the side so that my right ear was slightly closer to my right shoulder, I asked in a serious tone, "Yes to what, Miss Platt?"

She took in a deep breath in a seeming determination to keep herself composed. "Yes, Dr. Cullen, I would be honoured for you to speak to my father about this matter." Despite her words, the sides of her mouth were sloped downwards as if something were displeasing her.

"I am glad to hear that, Miss Platt," I told her sincerely hoping that she had spoken her truth.

In what otherwise might have seemed to be perfect timing, Mrs. Platt came out to the porch.

She looked at Miss Platt sternly. "Esme, you are wanted in the kitchen. We be needing to start dinner."

Miss Platt looked down at her cast, over to me, and then her eyes rested at her mother's face. "Yes, Mother. Would you give me a hand?"

"Yes, of course," she responded automatically. Then she seemed to take a minute, weighing something. When she spoke her words surprised me, "I am sure Dr. Cullen understands your need for assistance." She looked at me and then back to Miss Platt. "Perhaps he would lend his hand?" she enquired with a tone that my acceptance or decline would determine her opinion of me.

Miss Platt looked at me expectantly.

What was I to do? Outside of dancing had there been an occasion for such prolonged contact with a human before. In those occasions gloves, particularly for the women, were expected. In this occasion, since the day was warm by human standards, there had been no reasonable explanation for me to wear gloves, and Miss Platt was certainly not wearing any. Yet, refusing the mistress of the house, not counting the fact that she was Miss Platt's mother, seemed like a poor choice in the circumstances.

Taking my cue from Miss Platt and unwilling to do anything that might risk Mr. or Mrs. Platt having reason to declined my intended offer, I answered cordially standing from my chair, "Of course, Mrs. Platt."

Mrs. Platt nodded in a way that indicated that my answer had met her approval, and unceremoniously went back into the house.

Going over to Miss Platt, I offered my arm hoping that the combination of my union jack, shirt, and jacket would hide my temperature.

She expertly held onto my arm and used it to leverage herself onto her good foot. Then, she took a hop forward and I a small step.

"I am sorry about this, Dr. Cullen," Miss Platt whispered. "My mother can be quite insistent when she sets her mind to something."

"It is not a problem, Miss Platt," I replied in equal hushed tones. "I recall a certain doctor's orders regarding staying off the foot and giving it time to heal. It would be in poor taste to go against your doctor's orders," I teased.

She laughed lightly. It was a supremely exquisite sound. It was as if angels had burst into merriment. "Yes, I suppose it would be," she replied when she had calmed herself once more.

Together we navigated the front door and back into the kitchen. The tingling sensation that had been present when touching her during the operation grew the longer she made use of my arm, as if my forearm had become warmer of its own accord. In the kitchen she quickly placed herself into a chair.

After ensuring she was settled, I looked at Mrs. Platt no longer knowing what to do with myself.

Mrs. Platt must have sensed my uncertainty. She looked at me squarely. "Are you American, Dr. Cullen?"

It was not an unusual question. Despite the passing of time, I had kept a slight English lilt, so that humans might excuse my oddities as simply foreign.

Giving my usual answer, I told her, "I was born in England, ma'am, but I have lived in America for many years now."

Thankfully she was not the nosy type that then began asking at what age and such questions that usually forced me to lie in some way, as I was loathed to do that.

"Well, in that case, I will forgive your ignorance that the kitchen is a woman's domain and although your aid to our Esme just now is appreciated, it would be better if you waited for Mr. Platt on the porch or, if you would rather, the parlour."

Weighing my options I asked, "How much longer would you expect Mr. Platt to be, ma'am?"

She looked at me calculatingly. "A few hours at least."

Gazing out the window, the clouds looked like they would hold for a while.

"With your permission, might I take a stroll and return then?" I enquired.

Perhaps my deferring to her opinion appeased her, because the furrows on of her forehead seemed to smooth out. It seemed improper to sit within earshot and be able to unavoidably hear every word that passed between mother and daughter.

"Yes, Dr. Cullen, that would be acceptable. Please make your way back before dusk. There is much harm that could be bestowed upon an educated man as yourself in this part of the country after sunset," she warned.

Despite her good intentions, it took much effort to keep my face neutral. "Thank you, Mrs. Platt. I will see you then," I managed to tell her in an appropriately grateful and cordial tone.

She stepped away from the counter and towards the front door with the gait of someone who expected to be obeyed.

Unwilling to fall into her bad graces, I followed.

Over the years my ability to keep the demon contained had increased. It was a generous gift from my heavenly Father, and one that took me into the in-between space of not human, but also dissimilar to my own kind.

As the strength within me to resist had intensified, so had my loneliness and thus my desire to have a companion. Hence my thoughts of someone accompanying me through time and space, while also dwelling in this in-between alongside me, had increased. Despite how I had been testing myself with blood, each time the thought had come up it had been dismissed. There was a part of me that wanted a companion, yet morally I could not condemn someone to my life, not to mention that the thought of causing someone the pain of transformation intentionally shook me to my core. Despite my moral conviction, in my darkest moments, corners of my brain would be working on the possibility. And the trials pushed me to better myself, which was a good thing. Nevertheless, without doubt it was better to find contentment and be grateful for the gifts God had already bestowed upon me. Rather than dwell on what did not exist, I internally thanked the Almighty for the gift of new experiences, of Miss Platt's yes, of the unexpected turn of events, and set my mind to the moment. It was more than enough, more than my mind had created as a possibility.

"Good day, Dr. Cullen," Mrs. Platt told me as she opened the front door.

"Good day, Mrs. Platt," I replied stepping through the door, and then tipped my hat appropriately.

Walking towards what looked like an orchard, I contemplated if feeding would be advisable. After evaluating myself, I determined that my control over my demon was fine. What was really needed, apart from prayer, was the ability to appraise what I had just gotten myself into. Purposefully strolling around the trees enjoying their shape and smell, I allowed my thoughts to turn round and round. Then without notice my body came to a halt. Miss Platt's scent was nearby and it occurred to me that perhaps this grove contained the tree from which she had fallen. Taking into account all that Demetri had taught me about tracking, I allowed my desire to hunt to become prominent and my body automatically began to move in the direction of the scent until the tree containing the strongest saturation of Miss Platt was found.

Checking again that no human was within range of my senses, I once more followed the lingering places where her scent was still embedded, this time into the tree, potentially having my own body travel along the same route that she had climbed. After finding the spot where her scent was the heaviest, where she had probably sat, based on the scent concentration, I pushed that part of my nature in the background once more and evaluated how she might have fallen. It was a delightful exercise in using my senses in a way that was rarely presented to me since my lessons with Demetri. Not to mention that the challenge was enjoyable. There was so much that Miss Platt had given me that there was doubt if I could ever properly repay her, even if her father agreed to my proposal.

Pondering to recall a time when I had been as successful in following a scent, particularly when it was not another vampire's, none could be found. Since the chance that my ability in this regard had changed was minuscule, it was doubtful that my success was down to me. The only other option was that it had something to do with Miss Platt. What that could be was another item to add to my list of mysteries and new experiences. Leaning towards a spot where her oils were particularly immersed with the tree, I inhaled deeply. Categorizing every particle of her scent, there seemed to be neither anything usual about it nor did it seem remarkable in any way. Her scent told me that she was a healthy young female human with all of her indicators in standard limits.

Eventually, allowing the power of Miss Platt's scent to remain a mystery, I moved off the tree limb and landed on the earth below. Following her scent once more, I moved to the spot where her scent was still mixed within the earth and looked upwards trying to imagine Miss Platt on the branch, where her scent was almost fused into the tree, reading and what had happened. The other human's scent in the tree was barely present and indicated a male. Then there was some chance that there was a third scent on the ground near where she had fallen. Gauging the distance and a possible path of her fall, it seemed as if she had leaned too far forward and lost her balance. Gratefully, the male scent in the tree was a good foot from her, so I felt confident to conclude that nothing untoward had happened. After that distasteful possibility had been dismissed, a solid hypothesis was produced. Admittedly, my mentally conjuring was a delightful image.

My curiosity about her scent being present in the trees satisfied, I meandered contemplating how best to approach Mr. Platt. After some thought, my conclusion was that the tenor of my conversation with Mr. Platt depended on his views of women receiving an education. Consideration was needed regarding the offer I was willing to make in compensation for whatever losses he might feel, justified or not, for the removal of his daughter from their family home. There was no way to measure what kind of man Mr. Platt was inclined to be, other than to say he cared enough about Miss Platt to seek out and pay for medical attention.

Miss Platt had already voiced her parents' desire for her to find an eligible bachelor that would be in the position to take over the farm. Perhaps they would seek a second or third son of a local family for this purpose, as had been the custom for many generations? If that were the case, could such an individual also be willing to help out Mr. Platt while his daughter was away studying? Even though I was quite ignorant of the jobs a young eligible women of this era might add to a human household, Miss Platt's familial obligations were attempted to be added to the equation building in my head.

By the time the sun was close enough to the horizon that Mr. Platt might be home, I considered myself ready to negotiate. Nearing their home, it seemed, from the conversation in the home as that they were discussing the merits of having me stay for dinner. It had not even entered my consciousness that they might offer such a thing. Considering all the ways to be able to politely decline made me acutely aware of how completely out of my depth coming to Miss Platt's home had placed me. Had it been fear that had fuelled my intent to not approach her father? The possibility of cowardliness was unsettling, but as this was not the time to seek deeper answers within myself, it became something to evaluate later.

This time I ensured that my feet made noise on my approach. The sunset would be in little more than thirty minutes. Consequently, there was enough of the evening remaining for me to speak with Mr. Platt and then be on my way. Reaching the top of the porch, I knocked on the door.

Heavy footsteps journeyed towards me. The door opened and there stood Mr. Platt. He looked dirtier in comparison to the last time we had met, which was to be expected.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Cullen," he greeted me. His voice was stern and forceful making his message clear that he was the master of the manor.

It seemed like a good enough start.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Platt. Might I have a word?" I asked ensuring my voice was slightly complaisant yet confident. It was not much different to how I spoke to my bosses at the hospital.

He looked at me appraisingly. "I just got back home and am still in need of a wash," he informed me in an almost challenging fashion.

Presumably this was a test. Quickly reviewing the little overheard about dinner, my response to his declaration might be my way around that. It appeared that they would eat after he was cleaned.

"Mr. Platt, if I may be so bold," I started, while watching his eyes narrow and him become slightly more defensive in his posture. "I am set to leave for my new position tomorrow very early and I still need to make my way home in order to arrange the last items before my departure," I continued. "If you would be so kind as to find the time now, I would be entirely grateful."

By the end of my request his body had relaxed slightly causing me to wonder if he was more comfortable negotiating in his present attire. He moved his hand in the direction of the chairs on the porch.

Nodding in agreement, I walked over to where he had indicated ensuring to appear human. Sitting in the chair that had previously contained Miss Platt, I became surrounded by her scent on all sides. It reminded me of my childhood in England, making me in equal parts nostalgic and comforted. It was a feeling not unlike coming home. The images that her scent had conjured had so immersed me that I had not responded to the question Mr. Platt had asked. Thus, I ended up needing to review what my ears had had heard, but had not registered.

"My intentions sir?" I spluttered in shock.

How had I not considered this to be his opening question? He was obviously a direct man. As much as his approach was admirable, I was much more accustomed to the roundabout manner that the upper middle class doctors communicated.

"Yes, Dr. Cullen, what are your intentions?" he repeated slowly looking at me as if I were well below his station.

This question was entirely unexpected, because my belief was that I had already conveyed without ambiguity that courting Miss Platt was not my purpose. Apart from the major reasons against courting her, her statement regarding her future daughter whom held her hope had not left me.

* * *

 _A/N: So officially we have left cannon, well at least in my head. Because in my imagination cannon is when Carlisle goes back home and never speaks to the Platts. Was that a rational choice or a fear-based choice justified by his logic? Is taking this direction courageous, irrational, or an act of listening to his heart's desires?  
_

 _I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I look forward to hearing your thoughts about Carlisle's offer._


	5. Lessons In Patience

**Chapter 5: Lessons In Patience  
**

* * *

Responding to Mr. Platt with as much honesty as allowable, I attempted to make myself clear, "My intention, sir, was to offer to pay for all of the costs associated with the education of Miss Platt and to compensate you appropriately for the added burden on you and your wife by her absence from your home until such time as she would graduate with her degree."

He seemed to take this in, evaluating my words carefully. As he was a difficult man to read, I was uncertain what he was doing with this information.

"You have no intention to court my daughter, then?" he pressed me.

Realization dawned. This must be more than the opening question; it was the crux of the matter for him. Miss Platt's assessment that he was looking for a suitable husband for her was confirmed. It was quite possibly his way of ensuring the best future for her.

Despite knowing this was not a possibility, sitting here in front of the father of the woman who so reminded me of my village interest, brought me sadness, as if I were losing that never-to-be future all over again. Miss Platt was not her I forcefully reminded myself, although, without doubt Miss Platt would make a wonderful wife and mother one day.

Quickly I calculated how to answer. If this is what mattered to him above all else, then saying no in a forthright manner might force him to refuse Miss Platt her chance at an education. That would not serve my purposes. Simultaneously, I did not want to lie or even mislead him.

After sufficient thought I told him, "As I explained to Miss Platt, my present lifestyle is not conducive to domestic living. This is the most I can offer."

Hopefully he could read between the lines and understand. My desire was to give Miss Platt every opportunity and to see her happy, as repayment for what she had given me, but being my wife was not on the table.

"Care to explain, then, your meaning in making the offer?" he required.

This question was expected. "Well, you see, sir, the second night Miss Platt was recuperating I inquired about the books that had been brought to her for her enjoyment. The passion in which she spoke impressed me greatly. Our youth today are in desperate need of the type of excitement and enthusiasm that I am certain Miss Platt would bring to a classroom." Given my most recent calculations, it was unsurprising when this confession did not appear to convince Mr. Platt, so I quieted my voice to a volume that only he would hear to add one more. "Many years ago now I contracted an illness that stole from me the possibility of fathering children, you see. This is my way of contributing to the future."

My last sentence immediately altered his demeanour. It was personal information, for sure, and if Mr. Platt was the gossiping type, and if the news travelled far, it might negatively impact others views of me as a doctor. Despite this possibility, I had already decided that it was the closest to the truth that I could offer him.

He nodded knowingly like he understood this burden. Perhaps he did in a way. After all, from all appearances he only had one living daughter.

"If I were to agree to your proposal, what would it entail?" he questioned.

Taking this as a good sign, despite his obvious emphasis on the 'if', I replied, "I had assumed that Miss Platt had already received her high school diploma?"

Mr. Platt nodded his head curtly. The movement seemed, based on his body language, to convey that her doing so was against his better judgement. Perhaps that was Mrs. Platt's influence, then.

"Then, Miss Platt would need to apply to a woman's college that would offer her the degree she wanted," I let him know. "I am not knowledgeable about women's colleges, but once settled into my new placement I could make some inquiries."

Mr. Platt nodded a little less curtly this time assumingly for me to continue.

"I would pay for all applications and postage costs, of course." He gave no reaction, so I continued. "Assuming she was accepted to one of the schools, she would move there for her studies returning home in the summers. Most degrees of this nature are three years in length, but as I have no knowledge of women's colleges, I am basing that assumption off what I have heard from the nurses about their own educations." His heart was beating slightly faster, but there were no other indication to my words, so I forged ahead. "Classes usually start in the fall. Responses to applications are usually made by April. Applicants need recommendations. I would supply one, but she would also need one from her high school teacher."

There were many long minutes that passed between us before he spoke. My greatest hope was that he was truly considering my words during this silence.

Eventually he asked, "So, she would be nearly twenty at the end of her education?"

The question seemed strange to me, but I answered it to be best of my knowledge anyway. "Assuming my calculations and assumptions were correct. Yes, sir."

More long minutes passed.

He went to stand. "Well, Dr. Cullen, you've given me a lot to think about. How might I reach you with my decision?"

Standing with him, I informed him, "The best way would be if I mailed you a letter with a return address once I am settled. Since new lodging have yet to be confirmed, I am presently ignorant regarding what my postage address will be."

He nodded like he expected this answer.

"That's fine, Dr. Cullen. Till then, good sir, safe travels."

Presenting my hand I told him, "I appreciate your time and willingness to consider my offer."

He shook it replying, "Good evening, Dr. Cullen."

"Good evening, Mr. Platt," I told him right before walking away.

As he opened the door and walked inside the heartbeats of the two women increased, and by the sounds it seemed like that Miss Platt was fidgeting, perhaps even frustrated at her immobility, while also there was a sense that she was trying to see me pass through the windows. Her behaviour was as equally appreciated as it was concerning. She would be ill-advised to pine after me. No doubt, though, if she did, it would pass and she would quickly find a more suitable gentleman to pin her hopes on.

Walking off the porch and up the drive, I debated the whole way whether or not to go back and listen in. No, I decided. Just because I could did not mean I should. By the time they were out of my hearing range, nothing had been said except standard instructions for Mr. Platt bathing and dinner being prepared, which burned my curiosity. However, truly, the family had the right to discuss their family matters in peace. It was now in the hands of God and Mr. Platt. It surprised me that he had not wanted to discuss the financial specifics, as I had expected him to want to do so. Perhaps those details would be finalized over post, assuming he agreed to my offer.

Whether he gave his consent or not, I felt lighter, freer than in years. That alone told me that I had done the right thing by making this offer, no matter the outcome. And for the first time in a long time, my faith felt as if it had been expanded. Nothing untoward had happened, a bright young woman might go to college and make the world a little better, and I felt just the slightest bit less alone. The conversation complete I could move on knowing that all that could be done had been.

Despite my initial trepidation, I left the Platt's residence believing that what had transpired had been the better outcome for both Miss Platt and myself. By far the emotion most prevalent, reflecting on my way home, was surprise. It was a wonderful sensation. It had been too long since something had surprised me. The result that had transpired due to me acting a little more on my heart's desires had been far better than I had imagined. My heart lighter and my faith increased I travelled back to my place buoyant. Suddenly, it wasn't hard for me to imagine why Aro appreciated my company so much. My oddities must have given him similar sensations and probably had been why he had acted so endearingly to me. It was hard to imagine having even less of these pleasant surprises as the centuries turned into millenniums.

Settling into the new position with fair ease, I had an address, and yet almost a full week had passed without me penning a correspondence to Mr. Platt. It was not like the task had somehow been forgotten. It was, in fact, the strangest thing. Each time I went to write the letter, I would find a way to talk myself out of doing so. Excuse after excuse stopped me from completing this simple task until I had run out rational as well as irrational delays. Thus, by the sixteenth day, since my arrival to my new position, I was forced to acknowledge the ludicrous state of things and to examine my conduct.

After some reflection, my conclusion was that my uncharacteristic behaviour was a result of my apprehension. A part of me, the part that was winning evidently, did not want to know Mr. Platt's answer. An imagined yes was vastly superior to the probability of receiving a no. Actually confronting the reality of what penning the letter meant for my future and my connection with Miss Platt was an unpleasant prospect, one I was reluctant to face. To make matters worse, my delay tactics had only increased my nervousness of what might be said.

When I finally successfully forced myself to complete the task, it took me an unreasonable amount of time to pen such a simple thing. I wanted every word to be just right. There were more crumbled up attempts in my waste paper basket from this one menial activity than every note I had ever penned over all my years as a vampire combined. The physical discards did not account for the thousands of mental options I had formed and then rejected during my process of creating and then remaking every sentence. Eventually, after careful consideration of the little that I knew about Mr. Platt, I settled on a short and direct letter in plain language.

Dear Mr. Platt,

Thank you once again for your hospitality and taking the time to hear my request. I hope this letter finds you and Mrs. Platt well, and that Miss Platt is recovering in a timely fashion. Please locate an address for correspondence below.

Sincerely,

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

It then took me an equally unreasonable amount of time to deliver it to the post office. Ironically, at the hospital, the night directly after the letter had been made into the mailbox, I began to experience the beginning of what could only be described as restlessness, or perhaps impatience was a more apt term, that began to settle and then increase within me. The thought that I could have run the letter to the Platts' residence faster than it would take the postal service would not leave me. Not to mention that I had to trust the postal carrier to correctly deliver the letter, in Mr. Platt's word that he would respond, and then, once more, in the postal service to get Mr. Platt's letter to me. The uncertainty of my true ability to restrain myself was in contrast with what my body felt compelled to do to end the unpleasant sensation flowing through me. The sensation was something akin to not feeding recently enough and then being accosted with flowing blood.

My future had never felt so out of my control, as it did in the weeks that passed after mailing this correspondence to Mr. Platt. Not even those first days as a newborn compared. At least then I had some understanding of what was happening. This was entirely foreboding. In response to the uncertainty, I prayed more fervently and more often, endeavouring to use this as an opportunity to lean on my faith. Despite my prayers and attempts to trust in receiving a response in a human manner, more than once a day when working and almost hourly when off work, I was tempted to run down to the Platt residence and use my heightened capacities to receive my answer. In particularly poor moments images came to mind regarding how to use my nature to ensure things went as I hoped they would.

With the exception of hunting, outside of the hospital there were exceptionally rare occasions when I desired to use the advantages that my vampiric nature gave me. As such, these mental plans and yearnings seemed astoundingly absurd. On the other end of the spectrum, often the temptation arose to call my accountant to discuss how my offer might be financially accomplished. Nevertheless, each time I talked myself out of calling him, reminding myself that there was no point in having that conversation until the course was set. Perplexingly, I could not discern what was causing me to act so uncharacteristically, despite the time and mental energy spent on the endeavour.

There was no doubt that the upheaval in my life was of my own doing. Rather than acting on the rational course, since my feet had taken me right at the crossroads, I had been on one that followed my heart. Yet, within moments of leaving the Platts there had been an instilled confidence that it had ultimately been for the greater good. Without a doubt, since following my heart and going to the right, my faith and need to practise patience had increased. Desperately clinging to this assurance, because despite knowing these facts, in my weakest moments I tried to convince myself that Miss Platt was responsible for my world being upended, since she had been the one to suggest keeping in correspondence. My own ridiculousness and weakness affronted my sensibilities, throwing myself into even greater disarray.

A phrase I had heard humans say to one another that previously had meant little, as time was in endless supply, was: don't pray for patience or you'll end up be given circumstances in which you will need to exert patience. Did my frustrations, therefore, bring me closer to humanity? This, like many things since Miss Platt was left unanswered.

To combat these temptations great and small I threw myself into my work attempting to distract myself from thinking about everything concerning Miss Platt. Fortunately for me, this hospital was bigger and busier than any ones prior. That choice had been purposeful, as I had applied for the position as a way to test myself in hopes of eventually working in a large hospital in a bustling city. The amount of cases this hospital serviced meant that I was often requested to work continuous nights. To aid with my desire for distraction, I also extended my hours as much as possible without causing concern. With it being the beginning of my time in the location I wasn't well known yet. That combined with its size allowed my work habits to pass undetected. It also helped that my wages were the same no matter how much I worked, which was not the case at all hospitals. Although certainly my working hours were bound to attract attention eventually, so prudence was needed.

This new city had a central library that contained about a twelve percent increased collection to any library prior. There was also a park with a bench between the hospital and the library, so my routine was disturbed little by the move. My movements to a bench in order to think and pray after work, to the library, and then to home were perfunctory. Nothing seemed to hold the same radiance as it once had. It was as if once the decision was made and the letter sent that the colour had been removed from the world. Was it simply that I did not like waiting? Did my change in mood have to do with Miss Platt herself in some way? No good answer ever came to me despite the time devoted to the questions. One thing that could be said with certainty was that as bland my world might have become; there was no melancholy in me.

It was a gruelling twenty-two days later when Mr. Platt's scent radiated from my mailbox. Taking his response into my residence, I stood completely still, staring at it for ages. Upon closer inspection it smelled like their home, their three scents mixed with cooking and farming and human living. Esme's scent had a slightly earthier tone to it, but I detected nothing untoward. Uncertainty regarding if I had the courage necessary to read the contents filled me. After a while, my concerns about a simple piece of paper seemed foolish. Praying, I offered my gratitude to God before my fingers ever so gently slid it opened.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

After much consideration, I have decided to seriously consider your offer. Please send the names of the women's colleges and any information needed to make an informed decision. Assuming I permit my daughter to apply, and if she is accepted, then I will hold you to your word to cover all costs regarding her education and we can discuss remunerations in regards to this household at that time.

Sincerely,

Mr. Platt

It took me a full seven minutes to digest his words. It was neither a yes nor a no. The effect that the letter had on me was disconcerting. It was like he was holding me hostage. Although from his perspective, the reason to not yet firmly commit was prudent. Nonetheless, I distinctly disliked his provisional yes. However, at the minimum, he had given his permission for me to proceed. An anticipatory excited fear enveloped me in a way that was unprecedented. As an antidote to this feeling, for the next fortnight I decreased my working hours to what my contract requested of me and spent every minute not at the hospital researching women's colleges in America. Additionally, silent prayers were often offered during my search asking God for guidance and forgiveness for forgoing my habitual daily prayers.

Naturally, given the development of the country, most of the colleges were in the northeast or in the southern region. It seemed to be a reasonable assumption that it would be easier to convince Mr. Platt if Miss Platt were closer than further away, so I narrowed my search to options within their state or neighbouring ones. There were good prospects in Pennsylvania and Indiana. Paying the fees to call by wire each of the schools that fit the geographic criteria, I requested information regarding degrees offered in Art or Higher School Education to be sent to my address. A few weeks after making these calls more mail than I had received in the hundreds of years prior began to arrive.

Each new package added to a collective sense of excitement, anticipation, and happiness, although trepidation still lingers. By the end of six weeks after the appearance of Mr. Platt's letter, every college's correspondence including costs, application requirements, and housing accommodations had been received. Every spare minute was spent going through the material and weeding out any of the colleges that had no classes in the study of art. Art appreciation or art history seemed like an easy enough class to come by, but I wanted her to have the opportunity to improve the making of her own art, given our conversation about the matter. Despite its tediousness, I enjoyed how this activity forced me to learn new things about the world that would have never otherwise entered my awareness. Then there was the fact that these activities gave me a purpose outside of the hospital.

After great deliberation and research, I settled on four schools that gave the impression of being worthy of Miss Platt's application. Doing so gave me a sense of accomplishment that was unexpected. With little success I attempted to tame these foreign feelings with rational thought. One criteria that was ambiguous for my decision making process was religious affiliation. My research had unearthed the fact that religious institutions had founded many of the schools. Since Miss Platt's religious affiliation was unknown to me, I had disregarded that information in my discernment process, but made sure to include it in my letter to Mr. Platt. The goal had been and was to sway Mr. Platt into a firm yes.

My window of opportunity was closing soon. Miss Platt would need time to construct an essay of admission and acquire the other required elements. Uncertain if anyone she knew would know how to construct such an essay, I also included detailed instructions along with how to be persuasive and what to leave out. Sharing this knowledge that I had gathered over the years, while simultaneously enriching someone else's life with my non-medical knowledge was enjoyable.

Included in the bundle to Mr. Platt was the four schools' information packets that had been sent to me and a check that covered the cost of each school's application fee, the postage, and a bit more in case they might incur costs that I had not expected. In addition, there was a letter explaining all that was included, my reasoning for each item, a description of the next steps, and what they might expect in the coming months.

These activities led me to the perception that what had been risked and the sense of increase faith that had ensued was being rewarded. Following my heart that small bit had not led to ruin and was, in fact, giving me the opportunity to learn something new, which in itself was a rare gift. In passing moments my thoughts turned to Aro and what he might have to say about the madness in which I had surrounded myself. Certainly, before anything else, he would raise his concern about me being so involved in humans' lives. He had found me being a doctor pointless, since they were mere cattle anyway. Thus in my imagination paying for a human to go to school would appear absolutely absurd to him. For once the image conjured of what he would say came close how I felt. Once everything had been sent off to the Platts, I went back to my usual routine with no idea of what to anticipate. Shortly after it was in the hands of the postal service, I began to wonder if perhaps Aro had not been at least somewhat correct in his assessment that I was not a normal vampire.

Eventually the thrill and excitement that my research into Miss Platt's hopeful future had created within me dissipated, and, although, it would be inaccurate to describe me as melancholy, the world had taken on a banal tone. What kept the trite colouring of my life from turning into something more grim was the hope that they were in the process of completing the steps laid out, and thus I would hear back from Mr. Platt in the next couple of months. My temptation to run to their homestead increased with each passing week.

On Christmas Eve, surprisingly, there was a Christmas card in my box from the Platts. It merely wished me a happy season and confirmed that they had received all that had been sent. The very reception of their card eased my nerves and, thus, decreased the necessity of keeping a strong hold on myself to ensure that I would not give into the temptation of running down to them. Their card also firmed up my hope, allowing me to see that this temptation was unreasonable, offering me a firmer resolve to resist being consumed by these unfamiliar emotions.

My gratitude at the Platts' thoughtfulness of their season's greetings seemed to soothe whatever had caused the dull tone to infiltrate my life. Slowly over the next weeks with no explanation colour began to return to my life, although certainly not at the same vibrancy that it had been. Reading again became a pleasant pastime and, although my thoughts often pondered what was happening in the Platt household, through self-disciple I made sure they were nothing more than fleeting thoughts.

Unexpectedly in mid-February a note from Miss Platt arrived.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

I hope this finds you well.

I am writing to inform you that I have successfully applied to three of the four schools. The one my father declined for me to apply to was Catholic and we are not. I was able to get my high school teacher, one Miss Joseph, to write a recommendation letter. As you requested, I gave her the instructions you sent regarding that matter. I am anxiously awaiting their responses.

Sincerely,

Miss Platt

P.S. My leg is as good as new thanks to my doctor.

P.P.S. Please do not feel inclined to reply.

The last postscript resulted in me laughing out loud heartily, something that had not happened since the last time Garrett and my path's had crossed. No doubt she had written the postscripts after receiving approval for the letter to be sent. It seemed likely to me that her mother might have had a hand in me receiving an update. It did not seem like Mr. Platt's style and Mrs. Platt's scent was on the paper as if she had handled it as some point. The usual Platt household smells brought a smile to my face, but the scent of Miss Platt was certainly strong. She must have held the paper for some time for her oils to be absorbed so well into the parchment. Unexpectedly, I found myself feeling rather pleased to have Miss Platt's scent enter my nostrils and sit on my tongue. In fact, I would go so far to say that my missing of it was almost as acute as my motherland, except the craving for it was qualitatively different and something outside of my grasp. It was an odd sensation, not entirely unpleasant, but I wondered the virtues of missing someone whose days were limited.

After its arrival, I gave myself two days to read it over and enjoying what Miss Platt had said before putting it away and forcing my mind to focus on other things. Once doing so, something within me changed and not back into the melancholy that had become my constant company. Instead, my satisfaction of the rhythm of my life could have been compared to the enjoyment a human might have in taking a breath. It was perfunctory, apart from the moments when I believed that my work really had made a difference in someone's life. Nevertheless, it brought order to my days. Also, the moments when it appeared that my life might have improved another's made the rest worthwhile. Yet, my sentiments made little to no sense to me, so could not be named. How could a cure be found if the ailment was unknown? To make matters worse, whenever my mind ruminated over the situation, nothing became clear. Thus, my only option seemed to be to wait and hope that the Almighty would revel the source of my present state.

The flowers blossomed and trees budded. Although I tried not to dwell on it, unease began to spread within me as the days of April ticked by. Leaving my fate to human hands made me highly uncomfortable, but in a significantly different way than when my life had been in Aro's hands upon our first meeting. Nonetheless, in both cases I had been left with little choice but to wait and see how things turned out.

As psychology had entered into the medical conversations and some focus was placed on a person's emotional state not just their physical state, I had begun to wonder about myself. Doctoring gave me a way to spend my time, and had challenged me through the centuries, but it had not given me a deep abiding purpose. Even after finding a way to survive that did not require human's death, the lack of firm investment in my own future had not been there. It was not there upon meeting Aro, although certainly I was apprehensive. And still it was illusive.

For many days I pondered if the sensation of these weeks was a human one. Caius certainly sneered that I was more human than vampire often enough. Was that why I was so invested in Miss Platt? Were my actions similar to how a human might act? Although this line of questioning gave me a sense of being closer to an answer than any other, a true answer seemed out of reach. However, the very idea, true or not, pleased me. My only hope was that the discomfort I felt had gifted me with a part of my humanity that had been lost.

In the first week of May a letter from Mr. Platt arrived in my box. I opened it as soon as privacy could be found.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

This is to inform you that Miss Platt was accepted to all three schools in which she applied. Given your offer to cover the costs of attendance, I leave the decision of where she attends up to you. I have included all three acceptance letters and their enclosed instructions in the hopes that this might help inform you of your decision.

If you are agreeable, I believe two man's labor to be a fair exchange for Miss Platt's absence from the home.

Additionally, if you would be so kind, Mrs. Platt has requested to accompany Miss Platt any myself on the journey to the school of your choosing. I would leave the transportation arrangements to your discretion.

Sincerely,

Mr. Platt

Stunned it took me a whole thirteen minutes and eighteen seconds to arise myself from my frozen state.

He had agreed to send Miss Platt to college.

He had agreed!

It would cost me a pretty penny, but the joy I felt in that moment made it feel like a shilling. Studiously I closely examined each of the colleges enclosed and chose the one with the most art classes, even though it was the most expensive. For some strange reason doing so brought me more joy than when I had picked out my own path of study.

Once all the matters regarding the school itself were sorted, I called the accountant and explained my intentions. He recommended some type of institution that would protect me legally and monetarily. I instructed him to enact his recommendation and paid him the sum to make it a reality in the shortest amount of human time possible. Sending in the letter accepting the attendance of Miss Platt to college was the happiest day of my life. It was with sublime bliss that I responded.

Mr. Platt,

I find the sum for the loss of Miss Platt from your household to be acceptable.

My accountant has set up the appropriate accounts for Miss Platt's schooling. Consequently, all checks you receive, including the one enclosed, as well as those to be sent to the school will be from that account. They should be able to be deposited as normal, but if there are any problems with the arrangements made, please inform me straight away.

I have purchased three first class tickets to the school and two returning. Please find them enclosed. The date of arrival allows you and Mrs. Platt two days to explore the school and surrounding area. Hopefully, this will give you enough time to confirm that the school is up to your standards. The enclosed check should be enough to cover the cost of whatever hotel you choose for your stay as well as your meals.

Customarily the days before classes start there will be student's orientation and other informative gatherings. Parents often accompany their children to these offerings. I would recommend attending all events presented, as they were very helpful to me when I was a student.

Please allow some boldness on my part. Young women of a high social status will primarily be the students at this college, and thus attire will be important. The enclosed check I believe to contain enough, in addition to the above mentioned items, for you and Mrs. Platt to acquire the clothing necessary for the two days you will be in attendance as well as for Miss Platt to purchase at least two weeks worth of dresses. I would recommend employing a tailor for yourself. Please find an enclosed catalogue that I have been led to believe represents the type of fashion Miss Platt will be expected to have at a school. I trust Mrs. Platt to know the appropriate apparel for herself. If Mrs. Platt finds the enclosed sum inadequate, please pay for a telegraph and I will send another check post haste, since I know little about the cost of women's attire.

If you would allow more boldness on my part, and, if such a thing is possible, I would recommend Miss Platt take lady's etiquette lessons in the months before her arrival to college, so that she does not stand out amongst her peers, hopefully allowing her the opportunity to makes friends and to be included socially. Additionally, these lessons will ideally give her a basic introduction to the formal behavior classes she will be expected to attend at the college. The cost of attending such classes is also included in the enclosed check.

I am humbled that you would permit me the honor of sponsoring Miss Platt. I wish you nothing but the best for the next year.

Sincerely,

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

Shortly after this letter was posted, I wrote the check for the first year's tuition, including all room and board costs, as well as a spending account for Miss Platt, and mailed it to the school hoping that she would be happy.

Initially my accountant informed me every instance that the checks cleared. However, as Christmas once more approached, I explained to him that these updates were no longer necessary. My offer–to be her benefactor–had been fulfilled and the updates were only causing me to increase in my curiosity on how she was getting on. Thus, at times, my relationship with Miss Platt feel insufficient, but I refused to cut her human life short and doing anything greater than I had offered exponentially increased that possibility. That was my relationship with Miss Platt: inadequate, but more than I could have hoped for.

Unexpectedly, a Christmas card again arrived from the Platts. It offered nothing more than a season's greetings and a word of thanks. I was not sure what to make of it. It smelled of the Platt's home minus Miss Platt, which made it seem unwelcomed. My only reasonable assumption was that Mr. and Mrs. Platt were appreciative of the opportunity my offer had afforded their family, but that it would have been hard on them to spend the Christmas season apart from their child, an unwed one at that. It had been apparent from the beginning that would be the case, as the journey was too far and the break too short for any other options. Nevertheless, I had witnessed in the nursing staff the yearning of many to be with their families in the holiday season.

In the beginning, after my change, I had found the worship of Advent difficult. I would sit in a tree near enough to my father's church to hear the rituals associated with this season holding my breath. I would remember my role in the events, how my father had taught me the different tasks to be done, and the purpose in which we celebrated. Over time my incapacity to participate as I once did and then how the ritual changed over the centuries made the season more sad than anticipatory. Nevertheless, either on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day I would find myself going to a service to worship the birth of the Saviour whose life offered salvation and redemption for all.

This Christmas was no different, except that for the first time, sitting in the service, I wondered what this season might have meant to a human family of this era, which naturally caused me to wonder how the Platts might have usually celebrated. A part of me wished to ask such a lacklustre question and learn these details about Miss Platt, but that was not my role in her life so put those wishes aside. Despite me doing so, I found myself lighting a candle after the service and desiring to request that God, if He would ever be so gracious, might offer me a family, but as that wish seemed greedy, at the last moment changed my prayer to being given a companion. Perhaps one day. My life was full of days. God had lots of time to answer my prayer after all.

After the commencement of the new year, I called the school to enquire about Miss Platt's grades. Upon speaking to the correct individual I was cordially informed that she had received top marks except in Math, which were average. Hanging up the receiver, I hoped, above all else, that she was enjoying the experience.

About a month into 1913 there was a young woman bearing some slight resemblance to Miss Platt who was admitted. My experience of treating this young woman contained none of the uncharacteristic behaviours that I had exhibited with Miss Platt, and begun to ponder how unique my reaction to Miss Platt really had been. Since meeting Miss Plat I had often wondered what it was about Miss Platt that had drawn me in. As there was no way to find the answer, I left the question behind, focusing on my work and my imaginings of what Miss Platt's first college year was like. Through the semester I occasionally thought of her, but nothing like the intensity prior to and during Christmas, and, except for my bank account, my life returned to how it was before my encounter with her.

When the end of the school year drew near, I sent the train tickets to the Platts. The enclosed letter had informed them of the possibility of my relocation before the end of the year and to send all correspondence to my accountant. Then I mailed my accountant's assistant a detailed order of my expectations for the care of Miss Platt's education in the next school year including all the additional costs needed. A few weeks later a letter from the accountant's office letting me know that my instructions would be carried through arrived. Unsurprisingly, upon my enquiry I was informed that Miss Platt's grades for the second semester to have also been exemplary. Her class choices pleased me.

On a rare day during the summer, when saying my prayers, I would wish that my relationship with Miss Platt could be more than it was. For the briefest of periods I would wish to ask Miss Platt about her courses and what she had learned. Each time my mind went in this direction I found myself sighing and redirecting my thoughts. Why Miss Platt was such a temptation and why keeping my distance from her reminded me at times of the discipline I needed to resist blood were both true mysteries. One thing was clear, however. Being involved in her life more than as her benefactor was not my place. I was the most involved with Miss Platt as was safe, and thus time after time I redirected my thoughts and went on with my work instead of giving in to this new temptation.

In the beginning of August a large fairly flat rectangular package from the Platts was located propped against my door. It emanated the scents of oils and parchments as well as some chemicals that were hard to name with the wrappings. Curious, immediately upon entering I opened it. It was a drawing of Miss Platt's beloved tree. I dared say that it was more exquisite than the tree itself. It was like she took the original tree and then added all of how she felt about it as well. Looking at every detail, every stroke, and what she created as a whole I felt another emotion that was unnameable. My mind flooded with images of lifting her high and praising her exuberantly. Not knowing what to do with those images, but knowing her painting was as precious, if not more than my painting of the Volturi coven brothers and I, the next day I took it to the framers.

The framer asked upon the artist and I merely stated that the artist was new and not well known yet. The storeowner came over to me and explained that they kept new artists' paintings in the shop to brighten the space along with the commission they took and the price ranges. In this way I learned that Miss Platt's hand was as gifted as her mind, which was not surprising. It was doubtful Miss Platt would want to become an artist or that her father would approve. Nonetheless, the reaction to her painting pleased me and I felt an internal glowing that was reminiscent of my first reaction to her painting.

The painting also had contained a note, which had been nearly missed in my exuberance of the painting itself.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

Words can never contain my gratitude for your gift of an education. As I came out of a class, I would often wish you were there with me to discuss certain ideas or even to debate a professor's argument. My father informed me that you might be moving soon, so I wanted to get you this small token of my appreciation that I did for a class project before it never reaches you. I hope it is a transportable size, as I know nothing on these matters, so that you can take it with you on your travels.

Sincerely,

Miss Platt

The irony that I had also wished to discuss her classes with her did not escape me. Certainly, corresponding with her was audacious. Despite that, I could not help but wonder if it might be possible. Certainly me attending a woman's college was not an option, but it appeared, despite the passing of time and the distance between us, that we both hungered for the intellectual stimulation brought forth by the other. Our exchanges had been the opening that had brought us to this point, after all. Deciding, contrary to good sense, to get her address at the college after classes had begun, I briefly considered if she would object to such a correspondence, but rejected the thought immediately, since she had suggested her interest in a dialogue. Nevertheless, even after I had the address in hand it took me ages to gather the courage to pen her.

Dear Miss Platt,

Although attending classes with you at a women's college seems unlikely at this venture, perhaps an intellectual engagement by post would also meet your request?

Most sincerely,

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

Not long after I received her first letter full of her thoughts about philosophers, her classmates, and college life generally. At times her words were so descriptive that it was as if it were her diary and an intrusion into her innermost thoughts, but as she had mailed it, I was required to presume that she wanted to share these intimate ponderings with me. My replies were honest. Sometimes my words questioned the direction of her thoughts, sometimes they offered advice for small things I had experience with, and more than anything they were a pouring of myself out onto the page. Opening up more to her than I had ever done with anyone prior, our letters caused her to know me more intimately than any creature before. Aro might have known every thought and memory, but my mind was a mystery to him, whereas Miss Platt seemed to comprehend my meaning instinctively.

We had conversations about the nature of God and man, the rights of women, art and what it conveys, social etiquette of the upper classes, and everything else in between.

Perhaps it was the nature of the written word and its capacity to allow me to be honest without putting her at risk or her gentle nature. I cannot say. What became clear, however, was that somewhere towards the end of her second year I came to believe that we had acquired a friendship. It was about this time that she, hesitantly, explained that she wanted a double major, Art and High School Education, but it would take four years rather than the previously agreed upon three. In my last letter before the end of the semester replied that I was agreeable, but that ultimately it was a question for her father. I was willing to pay for it, if he was willing to spare her. At the end of July, a notification from my accountant of the request arrived, which I approved. By this time I had moved once more. A new town, a new hospital, the same familiar routine, nothing was different except for Miss Platt's letters.

In the beginning of her third school year I informed her of my own change of address. Over the next two years her letters changed, her arguments grew, and her thought process became more refined. The writer was no longer the young sixteen-year-old that I had mended. Somewhere in the midst of it all of our exchanges she had begun to teach me things, and offer to me a way of seeing the world that I had never considered before. She kept giving me the most wondrous gifts and it seemed to me that I continued to not do enough to repay her for all that she had given me.

Starting in the second half of her third year, she spoke of approaching school dances. I took note of the fact that she never added information of a man who had conveyed their interest in courting her. Presumably, she was found fine-looking enough to encourage eligible suitors, not to mention her clever mind and generous heart. My presumptions were that she merely believed that to be an inappropriate topic between us, as the concept that she had no suitors seemed highly unlikely. In moments of weakness, I believed her information about social gatherings to be taunting me.

My affection for Miss Platt had grown over the years. I was well aware of how her correspondence brightened my day and how many hours were spent contemplating my responses. The more of her I had gotten to know and the more she had matured, the more my initial assessment that she would make a wonderful wife grew. Additionally, as my appreciation and understanding of her expanded, so did my affection for her and my attachment to her. Each letter offered me a crossroads. At any time I could state an intention to court her, but never could rationalize stealing away her future. Despite the occasional selfish desire to do so, my reasoning made acting on such desires reprehensible. Certainly following desires led to folly, as had been preached in my era. Not to mention my conviction to not be like the sewer monster that had stolen my human life from me.

It seemed as if, apart from resisting blood, my greatest test regarding being the kind of man my father raised me to be came in one of her first letters in the beginning of her fourth year. She mentioned somewhat in passing that her father was putting pressure on her to find a suitable husband and that she held no interest in marrying a farmer. She had turned twenty in June, getting closer to being an old maid by her culture's standards. A similar kind of conversation came to mind–the one where she invited me back to her family home, even though I had not requested permission from her father to do so. Thus, just as before, with great effort my responding letter commented on all but that.

* * *

 _A/N: Miki Mouse In Blue Jeans has a similar concept about a vampire exchanging letters with a human in Faith & Love. It was ironic because I had just written this section of the story when I read hers. Similar minds must think alike. ;-)_

 _I'm curious to hear your thoughts about Carlisle and Esme exchanging letters, and him going from leaving her behind to being her benefactor to now corresponding regularly with her._

 _As always, thank you for you support, it means a lot since the interest has been so little._


	6. Conversations with God

**Chapter 6: Conversations with God**

* * *

Even though the letter had been sent, Miss Platt's words haunted me.

Although conclusions of why she had even hinted at anything more than us being correspondents were hard to come to, as they seemed to contradict good reasoning, it also seemed as if she were offering me an opportunity to secure her hand. If I knew anything at all, it was that Miss Platt was no fool. Taking the assumption that she was seeing reason, I tried to puzzle out how she might be even interested in me courting her. For one, I was far older than her. Although, as soon as that thought secured itself in my head, another gently reminded me that it could be argued that over the time we had known each other she had become only four years my junior. However, Miss Platt would presumably believe that I was at least eight years her senior. Although that was not an uncommon pairing, I could not imagine what a young woman would see in an older man, especially if she had developed a crush she should have outgrown.

For another, I had attempted in all my effort to make it clear that us courting was not a possibility, so why was she hinting at it? And lastly, I could not fathom what she saw in me, as a woman might be interested in a man. Certainly, many nurses and patients had conveyed interest, but that had easily been chalked up to vampire lure and being a doctor. Miss Platt, on the other hand, had no lure influencing her and certainly there would be doctors-in-training in the social mixers her school would put on. After weeks of contemplation, my conclusion was that her subtle hint was the loveliest thing anyone had ever done, and the greatest temptation I had ever faced.

Ever since meeting Miss Platt she had tempted me. Time and time again my father's teachings rattled in my head about how women were sent by the devil to rob men from their rightful place in heaven. And each time I had resisted the thought. She was too lovely, too bright, too joyful, too kind and thoughtful and considerate to have been sent by the devil. Because the alternative, that she was a devil's trickster, meant, according to my father, that she would also be a witch worthy of burning. Simply, I could not make those mental connections. Yet, she continued to bring temptation. The hard theological arguments of my father would not serve me in this situation, but I needed something to help me understand. Time and time again, since my first correspondence with Miss Platt, I had scoured theological books, listened to priests' homilies, and read the scriptures with renewed vigour. My only conclusion, which was bordering on ridiculous, was that Miss Platt brought temptation to my life, but was not a temptress. She pressed me to think and consider things I had put aside. She challenged me and forced me at times to see the world through her eyes. Therefore, if there was temptation, it came from my own heart.

Over and over it was as if she had placed me back at those crossroads. The same arguments ran through my head that did each time I was tempted to court Miss Platt. For years now, ever since leaving her behind really, I had been tempted. On one hand, I missed her. It was a silly foolish thing, really, to miss someone whom I had only spent a few hours with, but it could not be denied that my thoughts often recalled our conversations and my mind would review our few hours together.

This silliness was contradicted by deliberations regarding if my body had not veered right, then it would have gone to the left and back to my home, leaving Miss Platt alone. The thoughts that accompanied reversing my action and going left were rational, reasonable, purposeful, and congruent with how my life was ordered. No matter how much I missed Miss Platt, she was human. Unfortunately this was not where my musings began and ended. My mind had terrible debates about life and death, souls and redemption, the nature of God, fate and choice, and what was right and what was wrong. The problem was that in this case, as is many choices in life, the lines of right and wrong were terribly fuliginous, and had seemed to get only murkier over the years.

Thus, once more my mind would circle back, remembering the exquisite experience of sitting on the porch with Miss Platt, of how her request for correspondence had inspired me, and what happened when I had followed my heart and gone to the right. A family's life was improved, a young bright girl was going to college, and when she graduated young children's minds would be improved because of her. In this small way, my choice had made a difference in the world outside of the hospital, and doing so had brought me such joy. If such a thing had brought good to the world, could asking Miss Platt if she would like us to court do such harm?

Each time my mind went down this path the inevitable conclusion would stop me. If we were to court, the honourable intention would be for us to wed, assuming that we found each other agreeable. As we spent time together, as would inevitably happen, there would be a significant increased risk that she would find out my nature. And if that were to happen, then she would have to be turned or killed. Even the idea of ending her life tore me into smithereens. Yet, the alternative–attempting to turn her –was not any better, since it held tremendous possibility of me killing her accidently, as I had no idea how to hold my demon at bay with that much blood in my mouth. The risk of anything but her never knowing my nature was simply too high.

Thus, in order to keep her safe, if we were to court, then in a very critical matter I would be lying to her, which brought its own contention. It would be a lie of omission for sure, but it seemed scandalous to suggest courting her when I had no intent to ever reveal my nature. Whether it was one side of the coin or the other, as soon as I had dismissed the idea of courtship altogether, my mind would conjure the memories of our time spent in each other's company. It was an endless circle that had plagued me for the last two years. Fortunately, as the time had gone on, and with great mental fortitude, I trained myself to set it aside and to lay the entire issue to rest.

Her latest letter had resurrected these circular paths. Going to set the considerations aside once more, like I had time and time again, except this time the memory of Miss Platt requesting correspondence stood out and a simple question crossed my mind: Should I step out, take a risk, and trust that a third way would appear? After all, a part of me pointed out, her request voice on her porch had inspired me to find a third way. Could lightning strike twice?

Yes, a part of me responded compellingly. The path to the right taken before had resulted in finding my way to her house, but I had been out at that crossroads because she had pressed the issue. And then, it was because of what she had said on the porch that pushed me into offering to be her benefactor. It was her persistence, and request of correspondence that had encouraged me to become her pen pal. Instead of temptation, was she rather trying to inspire me? Each time she had hinted or pressed me, I had taken a small risk, and then she had created a third way, something that had been unimaginable previously. She had already pressed me in her letter.

Even if the answer was yes, that a third way could appear, was it right to potentially increase the her exposure probability, given the cost? For days I tallied the pros and cons and tried to calculate the risk involved for her and for myself. I was at a deadlock. In an attempt to find a solution I recalled as much of my human life as possible including my father's teachings, and reflected on the kind of man I wanted to be. Did I want to be the kind of man that believed a woman should get a say in a matter such as this? Or did I believe myself to be better positioned to make the decision for us both? The problem was that to give her the information so that she could make an informed decision substantially put her life at risk.

After little headway and growing frustration, one day after my shift I entered a church and listened to the morning prayers hoping to find, if not answers, at least peace. The priest's homily spoke of how faith is acting on that not yet seen. These words would not leave me, as they formed an inability to shake my father's accusations that I lacked faith. Could he have spoken the truth? Did I lack faith? It seemed not, as I had entered a profession that at the outset and according to many was impossible, given my nature. Was that faith or my pure stubbornness? The last time I had felt my faith increase had been after speaking with Mr. Platt. Was Miss Platt's offer another opportunity to increase my faith? It sure would meet the priest's definition. Had I been unawares viewing her from my father's lens all this time?

I could not also help consider what my friend Aro would say. He had lived millennias before I had even been turned. Would he see my hesitation as being a coward? Perhaps he would say I was being too human, giving weight to human's ideas about God, the Devil, virtue, and honour. It was easy to imagine him not seeing the situation through the eyes of gender, but through species. Since I was the superior species, he no doubt would argue, she should get little say.

After the prayers were done and the people had filed out leaving to go to their jobs, no doubt, I stayed in my pew kneeling my hands clasped on front of me. Since the end of the mass, I had been reciting Psalms 23 over and over trying to find my way. "For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me," seemed to stick a little bit longer. Was God with me? Did I have the right to ask for His comfort? Did I deserve the goodness and mercy promised at the end? I had lived my life hoping that God would smile upon me and say, "In him I am well pleased." Where did my impassible mental loops fit into all that?

The rhythm of vessels opening and contracting seemed extraordinarily loud and for the briefest of seconds I was irritated that this creature dare interrupt my prayerful devotion. The heart along with the footsteps neared. The sound of the clothes and the smell of the material, as this individual sat down on the pew near me, could only indicate a man of the cloth. Despite the passage of time, the smell was nostalgic.

"Son, what troubles you?" this priest asked while facing the altar as if not speaking to me at all.

"I have lived my life in my vain attempt to follow the Lord's teachings," I admitted quietly.

He did not respond and my volume was so soft I was not sure he had heard me. Perhaps it mattered not.

After many minutes had passed, I spoke in a confessional manner once more, "I wish only to follow the righteous path, but I do not know what is right in this matter. You spoke about faith and I was convicted that I do not live my life in such a way. I use my reason and it has served me well all these years. In so many ways it would be better for me to continue to do so, but my heart is not so content. I am at war with myself."

So long passed that I simply returned to my meditation of Psalms 23.

"We are called to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect, but perfection is not to be measured in earthly terms. Perfect is not material goods or security. Perfect is to do what our Heavenly Father calls us to do, even when it is difficult, even when it seems impossible, even if suffering might be required. Jesus' life, whom was perfect, was not outside of ridicule or blame or insults or pain or suffering or even death. The perfection was found in His willingness to do his Father's will. He trusted his Heavenly Father, as we in turn are called to trust. In faith he risked everything, including his life, his honour, his name, and his reputation. As a reward for his trust in His Father, He was raised above all, even rising from the grave, transformed into something new." His voice was so soft that the vibrations never made the chance to create an echo even though the space commanded it.

A long expanse of time passed as I mused over his words.

Then without preamble he spoke again in the soft tones that were nearly as if he were speaking to himself. "The only thing we are really asked as Christians is the hardest thing to do as humans, to humble ourselves and ask what is being required of us in this moment, to still our minds and our hearts and listen for the space where God whispers to us, and then obey." With that he stood and walked away as if he had never meant to stop at all.

In these small words he had decimated every argument I had about Miss Platt. For the briefest of pauses my mind was bare and at peace.

Then like the igniting of an engine my mind began contemplating the possibility of requesting a meeting with Miss Platt to propose a possible courtship.

In less than a nanosecond it had conjured a number of practical obstacles. One, her father was likely to say no. Two, in the extremely unlikely event that Mr. Platt agreed, Miss Platt was likely to say no, once she learned what I could not give her and how limited she would be with me.

With the priest's words ricocheting in my mind and my heart attempting to force me into growing closer to Miss Platt, for the first time, I began to wonder if the long-term risks were really as great as I had presumed. Then, I realised that the risks to Miss Platt were great on the assumption that they both said yes, but with greater perspective that seemed highly unlikely to occur. Certainly the scriptures spoke of how God hardened and softened men's hearts. The idea that Mr. Platt's heart, especially, would be softened towards me was preposterous.

Recalling what Miss Platt had added to my life and how much I had learned from her, particularly in contrast to how I was prior to meeting her, filled me with longing to have that once more. Had her letters not added to my life in immeasurable ways? What was holding me back from acting on what I could not see and simply allowing the events to unfold? Acting on faith alone asked me to step out into the unknown rather than to rely on my intellect and logic. I had acted on this type of unknowing action when my feet had gone right at the crossroads and it had brought joy into my life, what was to say that would not happen again?

The strength of my hope and optimism along with lack of considering the costs to Miss Platt caused me to still in fear. My eyes locked on the relic of Jesus hung on the cross, and my whole being attempted to guard against the lack of control in my own future this would bring. I liked being the agent of my life. My human life had been too full of me living powerless, even how I lost my humanity. This potential action asked me to leap into nothingness and trust that I would land safely. Everything within me fought against the notion of doing so. Yet, if I did and if there was a third way, there was a chance that I would be able to keep Miss Platt in my life for the rest of hers in a greater capacity than a pen pal, assuming she wanted me, which she probably did not.

Shamefully the thought of keeping Miss Platt close, of seeing her every day made me feel mingy, wanting to squirrel away a treasured possession and proclaim to all my ownership. The thoughts that accompanied this feeling were immoral, not to mention disrespectful to Miss Platt. She was not an object to be possessed, even if my human colleagues often saw their wives in such light. Thoughts of what kind of woman my father would have arranged for me came to mind. In that way, little had changed in the upper classes. It was still about best securing a solid financial future. And males still desired to puff themselves up to each other by showing off that they had conquered the lady, often by filling her belly with a child. But I neither wanted to conquer her nor use her to solidify my place. She had simply been a welcomed refreshing encounter. At least that was what I attempted to convince myself when my thoughts became too barbarian. In these moments I pondered if this was a common male affliction, a trait among vampires, or just me.

Despite the unlikeness that Miss Platt would choose me, especially once she was informed of how much anything beyond letters would limit her, even the most sliver of chances that she might become my wife warmed my insides. Clearly, contrary to my mental efforts my heart had grown attached to her. Frowning at the awareness, it took less than a second for a voice within me to discern that I liked her company and justify that I had been alone for so long. Fortunately, my attachment to her was nothing like some trashy novel joining itself irrevocable. Blessedly, even my heart contained some good sense. Nevertheless, my attachment begged me to consider, if she were willing, would such a thing be amoral? My musing over this answer took a while. My ending decision was that as long as I was honest with her of my limitations and treated her well, which naturally would be the case, then I could not see how it could violate God's code. Before my heart began wandering in directions it should not go, I reminded myself not to put the cart before the horse.

With considerable effort I forced my thoughts to slow and then put them aside and instead concentrated on the priest's words. By his proclamation I was once more attempting to use things under my power to solve the answer, while he had insisted that the only thing I needed to do was what God was calling me to do. But what was that? And what about what he said about the whisperings of God? What did he mean by that? The moment when my body veered right rather than left came to mind, as did Miss Platt's suggestion that we correspond. If these were in fact, God's whisperings, then how would I know?

Slowly I reviewed my memory of that day particularly lingering on the sense of my faith being expanded upon leaving. It seemed as if that moment was evidence that I had acted on faith in accordance to God's will. If that were the case, then what was next?

One thing was for certain, I could not have a conversation with Miss Platt about a possible courtship in a letter, and to visit Miss Platt in person would require permission from her father. Most assuredly, Mr. Platt would deny my request. As such, what did I have to lose? If I took this small risk and received the no that was certain to arrive, then the matter would be closed. Once he said no, then I could reassure my heart that she and I were simply not meant to be and lay this matter to rest.

Even with this firm assurance, I wanted more. What I wanted was a sign from above that risking Miss Platt's future by asking her father was divinely approved. With my senses attuned to the space and scents of churches, but this one specifically, I allowed my vampire heightened capacities to call in more information than a human ever could, hoping that God would speak to me. Taking in the scents, sounds, and sights surrounding me I put together a mental projection of what my life would look like if I continued to say nothing to Mr. Platt. The feeling that accompanied these thoughts could be best described as lonely. Then I completed the same exercise including multiple possibilities of what might happen if I penned him my request. With this path I felt hopeful. Hebrews 11:1 came to mind, "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

This was not how I had ever come to a decision prior. Therefore, I was completely unconfident that this was a whisper from God. Nevertheless, rising from my pew, leaving the church and returning to the hospital, I penned a letter to Mr. Platt. Rather than being absolutely rational, it was a decision based on the priest's words and allowed me to see if this was the answer from my Heavenly Father. Leaving the next morning at the end of my shift and then sitting on my bench, I could not help but wonder if the priest had not meant his words for me at all.

On my way back to the hospital, after returning home and changing, I hesitated for a moment to put the letter in the box, but in the end I let it go, allowing God to harden or soften Mr. Platt's heart and trusting that the words penned were the ones he was meant to receive. Putting on my coat and entering into the hospital corridors, I allowed myself one more review of what I had penned before determinedly setting the whole matter aside.

Dear Mr. Platt,

I am writing to ask permission to visit Miss Platt at school. I have grown increasingly impressed with her and would like the opportunity to inquire upon her interest in me courting her.

As I have already informed you of my limitations, I would harbor no ill will upon your denial of my request. Thus, your answer would have no bearing on my promised support.

Sincerely,

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

More times than I dared to admit over the next weeks I had to talk myself out of finding the letter and removing it from wherever it would have been in its transportation to Mr. Platt. It was not my best letter, for sure. It was too blunt and lacked the usual etiquette and social pleasantries that my time with Aro had taught me. I barraged myself for my haste, but there was a part of me that was relieved, as a poorly crafted letter had more of a chance of getting a no and settling this matter.

Strangely, as the wait between sending the letter and receiving a response increased, I grew in restlessness. Perhaps it was my impatience, or the lack of thought that had gone into its creation, or the consequences inherent in the letter, but it seemed to take an unusually long time to receive any correspondence in return. Although my certainty in his negative reply dampened my hope of seeing Miss Platt once more, it gave me a sense of assuredness. His silence only confirmed to me that I had chosen the right path by staying away for Miss Platt. It seemed preposterous the idea that God might have intended Miss Platt to be in my life. Such a wondrous creature was certainly destined for more than the in-between life like my own.

By the time a letter with Mr. Platt's scent was in my box I had resolved to be grateful for the gifts God had given me in my occupation and my profession and to let go of Miss Platt for good.

Facing the reality of his response, and contrary to my mental convictions, I was afraid to open it. Me afraid of a letter from a human! If only Aro could have seen me, he would have shook his head and laughed at me. Embarrassingly it took me hours to finally find the courage to open it. When I did so my reaction was to stare at the letter reading it over and over and over as if doing so would somehow make the scribbles and loops penetrate.

Dr. Cullen,

I am greatly hesitant to grant your request. However, since you have shown yourself to be an honest gentleman, I will reluctantly agree. If Miss Platt expresses accord to your offer of courtship, I expect you to make any and all intentions on your part known to me immediately. This in no way is anything more than my permission for you to speak with Miss Platt in person to make your desires plain to her. After your meeting with Miss Platt and her response, we can discuss my opinions on the matter at that time and any long-term implications to our families.

Sincerely,

Mr. Platt

It was a yes, a restricted yes to only a visit, but a yes nonetheless. As my mind raced attempting to understand what had just transpired I was dumbfounded.

He had said yes.

The only conclusion I could make that had any resemblance of sense was that Mrs. Platt had a hand the decisions in the letter, as Miss Platt had made it clear that she would be pleased about a possible courtship between Miss Platt and myself. That Mrs. Platt had such influence over Mr. Platt surprised me. The little that I had observed of them had presented me with the idea that Mr. Platt was firmly the head of their household, and although cared for his wife and daughter, was not the type to give much stock in the opinions of women. Thus her possibly influence had not be included in my calculated expectations.

The possibility that in all my thoughts and musings I had never placed Mrs. Platt into the equation of the response made me feel like a fool. Given the letter's tone, not only was it likely that Mrs. Platt had swayed him into saying yes, Mr. Platt was giving Miss Platt the right to have a voice, even if he had the last say. Perhaps Miss Platt's brazenness and endearing honesty had been more accepting in her home than I had imagined. Humans rarely surprised me after all these years. It was a welcomed reminder that even I never truly knew the hearts and minds of others.

At the same time, it felt wrong to me. I had been so certain of his no. The letter was meant to gain a perfunctory no, so that I could move on with my life and put the thought of bringing Miss Platt into my life and endangering her further out of my mind. Instead, I was facing the chance of moving down a path that seemed contrary to my values. Was it faith to go against my morals? Was it faith to follow this path? I had asked God for an answer, but had received the wrong one. I felt trapped and was a little disgruntled with God. My mind could not wrap itself around the possibility that my Heavenly Father who loved all creatures would intend the marvellous creature of Miss Platt to endure my hardships.

Beyond the astonishment of his yes, if that were not enough, was his hinting of him receiving a financial compensation on the presumption that Miss Platt said yes to us courting. He wanted me to buy his daughter from him? Certainly exchanges of money between families regarding weddings were common enough in my era, but I had thought the practice had lost popularity in the last decades. I was at a total and complete loss at the purpose and intention of that statement.

Money was not the issue. Truly, the issue was that the idea of me giving him money in exchange for Miss Platt's hand disgusted me. My intense reaction, even though I had no memory or reason for such a response, implied to me that it was an opinion I had held strongly as a human. The last time I had reacted as such was over the topic of slavery. Something inside of me refused to agree to such a thing, even if it would cost me losing Miss Platt.

Unfortunately, though, that was counting chickens before they hatched. His wording made it clear that the next step was to go and visit Miss Platt. For that I could see no escape. To write back and state my removing of my request based on his desire for financial compensation, when he had said that it would be a topic of conversation only after I spoke to Miss Platt, would be dishonourable and show me to be wishy-washy. I could not have that. The only reasonable path, then, was to present myself to Miss Platt and make the undesirability to court me clear.

It took me hours before I fully came back to myself, then another two days before finding the courage to use the public phone box to call Miss Platt, as my impatience and unease about the situation made me unwilling to wait for the response required if I penned her a letter. The cost was high since it was interstate, but for my nerves sake it was more than worth it. After many operation transfers and an extended wait for a school staff person to retrieve Miss Platt from wherever she had been, I finally heard her voice in the background.

Once connected to the school, the wait was not as unbearable, since I was regaled with the conversations of the other students and staff as they went about their business. More than once, I had to wonder if Miss Platt would have engaged in such gossip as I overheard between two young women or would have spoken as sternly to a student if she had been the administrator. It was like getting a peek behind the curtain. I received glances of the life of women through the nurses, but this was entirely different. It would have been amusing in any other circumstance.

"Hello?" Miss Platt said once she picked up the receiver obviously uncomfortable with the technology.

Wondering if she had ever had the opportunity to use a telephone prior nearly distracted me into talking to her about things other than the reason I had called. My ire rose at myself for being cornered, and her father for saying yes and then stating things to force me hand in this regard. He was supposed to have said no. I was meant to step out in faith to have my assumptions confirmed and receive confirmation, not be placed in this position of unknown. On top of that, I really did not the emotions stepping out in faith and waiting to see what would happen conjured within me.

Not to mention, that even with her father's yes, my uncertainty if I was acting within the will of God was strong. Everything felt so foreign that a part of me wanted to go back to my dull monotone existence, even if it included quiet desperation. At the same time, I desperately wanted to be able to enact the words of the priest. I wanted to prove my father wrong and demonstrate that I was a man of faith as much as a man of science, but when I was honest with myself admittedly it was entirely uncomfortable. Yet, I was on the telephone listening to Miss Platt breathe.

"Good afternoon, Miss Platt," I greeted her finally after pulling myself together enough to speak.

"Oh, Dr. Cullen, what a surprise!" she stated enthusiastically and perhaps a bit too loudly, as if I had made her day. Often I had observed humans nearly yelling into the speaking part of the phone, but had no way of determining why Miss Platt was doing such a thing. The moment after her voice contained a bit of apprehension. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked pleasantly.

This was my last chance to back out, my last chance to stay in her life at a distance. I would appear the coward and it go against everything inside of me dedicated to be a man of my word, but the choice was there. If I said nothing more, I would tarnish my reputation with Mr. and Mrs. Platt and whomever they would speak to. At face value it seemed like a reasonable price to pay if it gave Miss Platt the opportunity for the best possible life. Yet, everything within me resisted that option, as it was contrary to the very man I knew myself to be, and the parts of me that seemed to reflect the values of my father.

I offered a prayer to God and waited for something to stop me, even for the phone to disconnect, but there was nothing. Was this a sign that I was meant to speak these things to her? No clarity arrived. There were no bolts of lightning or burning bushes. There was only the sound of Miss Platt's intakes and outtakes.

"I have contacted your father and gained his permission to come visit you," I blurted out.

Immediately I scolded myself for my bluntness. Since deciding to write the letter to Mr. Platt, I seemed to have lost all sensibility. Worse still, I could not pinpoint exactly what was wrong with me. I seemed to have lost all finesse in a situation where it was most needed. Even more oddly, I seem to swing between wishing to keep my mouth shut and to run to her as fast as possible. Since I had officially opened my mouth, the question was what was next. With each passing second I disliked the priest's suggestion more and more.

There was a sharp intake of breath.

I waited desperately, attempting to remember that I was in a public place and stillness would be unadvisable. It seemed that two hundred years of practise in appearing human was being completely forgotten.

"That would be wonderful," she said in an almost wistful sigh that contained a mixture of disbelief and sadness.

Her answer baffled me. "It would?" I asked desperately wanting to know what she was truly saying.

Was she merely being polite? A horrid new thought entered my mind. Perhaps she felt obligated to me. I paid for her schooling after all. Was there any scenario in which she would deny me this? The balance between us was significantly dipped in my favour and I had no knowledge of how to even us out. The worst thing would be if she said yes to me out of a sense of duty. She owed me nothing. She had brought me such positive things these last years that I believed that if any debt was owed, it was to her. Nevertheless, for the first time I became aware of the fact that she might not perceive things in the same way.

My memory had held onto a brazen articulate woman who had been extremely forward. That might no longer be the case. It was quite possible that how she saw our relationship and me had changed over these years. Suddenly the words between us took on a different meaning, and I had no idea how to extrapolate myself from the situation.

She breathed out almost in a huff. "Yes, certainly," she stated emphatically as if I was being an imbecile.

Having nothing else to go on, I rashly decided that the best course of action was simply to show up and figure it out there. "In that case, I would like to arrange a day when would be suitable for you," I told her cordially.

"Oh," she said sounding flustered, and then added, "Oh!" as if she had just caught on to what I had said.

Perhaps human hearing made the conversations over this devise difficult to fully understand the other. It was hard to tell. Nonetheless, I decided to modulate my voice to a slightly louder decibel in case this was the issue, though still softer than the level in which she was speaking, as that seemed excessive.

Miss Platt paused and made small sounds like she was thinking, so I waited. While doing so, I attempted to pull myself together. For better or worse I was following the steps being offered to me expecting to be rejected at any stage. I was doing this for the purpose of giving my heart a rest, and leaving Miss Platt behind once and for all. Honestly, though, since hearing her voice, my hope had expanded and Hebrews 11:1 came to mind again. This did not look like faith to me, and it felt vexing.

Eventually she spoke. "Um, well, the weekends are freer. Saturday perhaps?"

After taking a moment to ponder my options and the weather I told her, "I would need to request some time off in order to make the journey. Could we say in a month?"

"Christmas break will be then," she pointed out hesitantly as if reluctant to admit this.

She would not be travelling to her parent's house, so that was not completely out of the realm of possibility. Christmas itself was closer to five weeks away, but its nearness to the Solstice would afforded me longer nights.

"Would you rather before or after Christmas?" I asked as the days around Christmas I always worked, so the family men could be with their wives and children.

Miss Platt paused briefly. "Can we say after?" she asked slowly as if she was unsure of herself.

"In between Christmas and New Years would be suitable for me, unless after New Years worked better for you," I told her easily. Getting away after Christmas would be easier than before in terms of shifts and securing time off.

"Between the holidays would work well," she told me after a few moments of thought.

If such a thing were possible, it was like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was aware that my mouth was uttering words and that Miss Platt and I were attempting to arrange a time to see one another in person, but the reality of such a thing seemed lost on me.

"In that case, let me talk to my supervisor, see what I can schedule in terms of time off, and then book tickets. I will write you with the specifics once I know them. How does that sound?" I checked in with her.

It almost sounded like she was smiling, but I could not be sure. "It will be good to see you Dr. Cullen," she stated deeper than her voice usually was and with a vehemence in her words that I did not understand. It was as if she was attempting to convey something between the lines, but it was lost on me.

My lack of skill in this area reminded me of some of the ribbings I received from Aro about my lack of political finesse. He was far better suited to manage the political nature of things than I, but then he had no interest in medicine. We each were doing what suited us best.

"I look forward to one of our exchanges in person," Miss Platt continued on, bringing me out of my thoughts.

Suddenly the full implication of my request hit me, and reality or not, I had responsibilities to consider. Even if I was to be there, and she was willing to entertain me, there were rules of conduct to be abided by. I would not shame Miss Platt or have Mr. Platt regret giving his blessing. "Will you be able to arrange a chaperon?" I asked grateful for having remembered this necessity.

She hesitated slightly. "Yes, a chaperon can be arranged."

"I am glad to hear that," I told her relieved for remembering the need for such a thing in this era. After reviewing the conversation for a few seconds, I let her know, "Unless there is anything else, I believe everything aside from the particulars to be in order."

"Will you be needing boarding?" she asked meekly.

"Thank you, but no. I will see to my own arrangements," I informed her.

"In that case, I can think of nothing else," she told me softly almost reluctantly.

"Thank you for being willing to see me," I told her cordially.

"You are most welcome, Dr. Cullen," she answered back fervently.

"Good evening, Miss Platt."

"Good evening," she offered to me in an almost wistful tone.

As I walked out of the public box, I could not stop the grin that spread across my face, even if the very nature of it baffled me. It sounded like she had genuinely wanted me to visit, to see me. Perhaps there was more for her in her agreement than a sense of duty. Perhaps, even, like before she would create something that I could not see. I spent all my spare time thinking over her words and the potential issues being her benefactor might cause between us to the neglect of my reading.

After speaking with my superior and scheduling the days off, then purchasing my train ticket, I was restless. Nothing, not even work, held my full attention. I could not stop thinking about what I would say once there and how to ensure that I appeared the appropriate age. When I was not thinking, I was running and sometimes running while I thought, ending up in the most peculiar locations.

Before the holidays, I purchased a new suit with the expressed intent of making myself look older. I had also been paying attention to the hairstyles of the men in the hospital and had begun trying out new ways to present myself to make it appear that I had aged four years. Hopefully, I could pull it off.

I was nothing but nerves on the way there and therefore glad that I had paid the extra money to secure all the seats in the first class box. It allowed me the freedom to be as still as I wanted without curious onlookers. Ironically, as the train drew nearer to Miss Platt I had almost a compulsion to run; I needed out of the small space that boxed me and was filled with the scents of humans and metal and smoke.

Fortunately the train schedule had made it so that I pulled into the station at night. I climbed out, walked to my hotel, checked in, placed my belonging into my room, and then went back outside. Once I was far enough away from the town, I stretched my legs and allowed myself to sprint. It was a few hours from dawn when I headed back. The jaunt had helped calm my nerves some.

My desire to go find Miss Platt's room and watch her through her window was staggering. Apart from the fact that my human father would have never approved of such a thing, I reminded myself of my mantra that just because I could, did not mean I should. So instead, I steadied myself and forced myself back to the hotel. The newspaper stated that the day would have sun breaks. Consequently, I needed us to go to a park and sit under a canopy of thick enough trees or to go to some place indoors.

It was coming up to nine in the morning when my capacity to stay in my hotel ran out. I walked to campus attempting to slow myself down as much as possible. In so far as my mind had been consumed with the moments that were soon approaching, I felt entirely inadequate. While walking I pondered if such feelings were regular occurrence when a person acted in faith.

At the main entrance a portly older gentleman stopped me.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked.

"Certainly, sir," I told him, and then explained, "I am here to visit with Miss Platt with her father's permission."

"Name?" the security guard asked.

"Dr. Carlisle Cullen," I told him.

He looked down at a piece of paper searching presumably for a written agreement to my assertion. Despite the hassle, I was glad to know that Miss Platt was being well taken care of, and that they were serious in regards to the matter of her honour.

"Yes, it appears that you are expected. Please wait in the auxiliary building over there for Miss Platt and her chaperon," he told me as he pointed in the direction I was meant to go.

"Thank you," I told him and turned walking away.

"You're welcome," he replied to my back.

Giving nearly my full attention to ensuring to appear human, I walked over to where I had been instructed to wait. Whatever capacity I had left was used to listen attentively to my surroundings to learn as much as possible.

Another man dressed in the security uniform entered the entrance booth.

"Jack, Dr. Cullen is here for Miss Platt. She is listed as being in the Adams dormitory. Would you please let her housemistress know?" the portly security guard stated.

"Certainly, sir," the younger man replied and marched off at a quick pace towards what one could only assume to be the Adam's building.

About twenty minutes after my arrival, Miss Platt and another young woman could be heard chatting. I had to work harder than in over a century to keep myself from getting too still. Amongst other concerns and complications, I was completely unsure my presentation gave the appearance of the four years that had passed. Never before had I needed to attempt such a thing. My failure would cost her a lot, so the stakes were high. Not to mention that the nature of the conversation we were meant to have unnerved me.

When Miss Platt walked in the door she was even more beautiful than when I had last seen her. Her body had filled out and she had matured in a way that caused her to be even more radiant. Added to this, she moved with a grace and poise that she had not expressed before. When she looked up and into my eyes it appeared that she was delighted to see me. Despite my pleasure at the possibility, it would only make my intention of today more challenging.

As I seemed to have lost the power of speech, she spoke first. "Hello, Dr. Cullen. It is ever so good to see you." Her voice was strong, yet sweet reminding me of a dessert I liked as a child whose name could not be recalled. She turned slightly to the young woman standing somewhat behind her on her left, "Please let me introduce my classmate and dorm mate Dorothy Griffin."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Griffin," I greeted her gathering myself before too much time went by.

Miss Griffin held out her hand.

It took me a full second to realise that she expected me to kiss her knuckles. While doing so, I glanced over at Miss Platt to see her looking at me mischievously.

"Miss Platt, it is a pleasure to see you again," I told her after releasing Miss Griffin's hand.

She held her hand up and I carefully placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. She seemed to shiver. I hoped that my body temperature was not cooling hers.

Then both girls looked at me expectantly.

"I had considered going to the park or to a café," I informed them unsure what else might be appropriate at this point.

"How about the park and then the café?" Miss Platt suggested.

I smiled softly. "Certainly. Please lead the way."

The two girls walked off together and I followed them a few steps behind.

The clouds looked heavy for the moment, but I did not want to chance it. It was only then that I realised how silly my idea of sitting in the park had been. Apart from the snow, the two ladies in my company were likely to get cold quickly sitting down, despite their coats. Perhaps this is what Miss Platt meant in her response. We would walk the park and then go sit in a café and chat.

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 _A/N:For those of you that read A Little More Heart, we have officially ventured away from that story as well and are securely in an Alternative Universe._ _Thank you for sticking by me. It is greatly appreciated!_

 _I look forward to reading your thoughts._


	7. Expected Nos

**Chapter 7: Expected Nos**

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My faux pas in not considering a detail like the outdoor temperature floored me. What kind of student of human anatomy was I to forgot that Miss Platt's nature required different considerations than mine? Without doubt, she had made me feel the most like myself in our time together in the hospital. Nevertheless, forgetting how she would be affected by the cold was ridiculous. Chastising myself, I felt disgraced believing myself to be a complete cad.

While we walked, with myself slightly trailing behind the girls, I attempted to let go of my mental chastisement and simply enjoy being in Miss Platt's presence, since it was assuredly the last time it would be the case. Taking in deep breaths, I noted how her scent had only deepened with time, the scents associated with childhood fully gone. The mental comparison I made reminded me of overheard human discussions on the merits of different red wines at hospital fund-raising events. Her scent was richer, fuller, yet still tinged with the same qualities that made it feel intrinsically like home. A strange background thought of how lush she would taste was easily contained and pushed aside.

When we arrived at the park it was easy to see the beauty it would hold in the spring. Interestingly, the girls stopped so that I came to be standing next to Miss Platt. Then Miss Platt began walking with an expectant look on her face, and so I walked with her, while Miss Griffin waited a few steps before travelling behind us. The ease of their dance made it seem like it was something they had done multiple times before.

"Dr. Cullen could I ask a bold and extremely personal question just to soothe my curiosity?" Miss Platt asked almost immediately.

Her question comforted me. Perhaps becoming her benefactor had not caused her to judge me superior to her in some way. I sure hoped so.

"You could ask," I told her in a somewhat teasing tone, offering an internal prayer to God that I would act in accordance to His will, that I would speak honourably with as much truth as possible, and that I would find it within myself to be completely present and grateful.

She looked at me sideways and took a breath as if steeling herself. "Have you ever courted a girl before?" she blurted out.

Smiling shyly, the question cause me to become painfully aware of how poorly I must be doing for her to ask such a question.

"No," I told her honestly. "How about yourself, Miss Platt? Do you have much experience in courtships?" I could not help but ask my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Chaperoning only," she told me.

Nodded in understanding, although her answer perplexed me, I tucked her confession away. Oddly, it gave me a sense of gladness that she was not a woman to entertain many men. Given her lack of information on the topic in her letters, she had presented herself to be focused on her studies not on courting, but there was much about her life her letters never told me. Nevertheless, the confirmation did strange things to my emotions.

"And what, pray tell, did you learn from such experiences?" I asked with a grin hoping she would appreciate my banter.

I simply wanted us to be the people in our letters, nothing more and nothing less, but all too aware her written words might not be her public self or even her true self. We were both judging the other. There was no way to get around the reality of things, but that did not stop me wishing that I could erase the tension that seemed to be between us.

"That most men are taught to be generous with their words of affection in order to win a woman's heart," she told me matter-of-factly.

"Would you judge me to be the same?" I asked curious.

"What do I know of you Dr. Cullen except that you are generous with your opinions, do not shy away from a debate, and challenge me to think deeper?" she questioned me.

"I suppose, not a great deal, Miss Platt," I had to admit.

She nodded astutely.

"I am a bit concerned that the years have added barriers between us. I do not want the reason for your attendance at school to impact this conversation," I admitted, deciding that it was as good of a starting point as any.

"How could they not?" she challenged me.

"What do you mean, Miss Platt?" I asked lost.

"Despite your intentions, you cannot erase what is, Dr. Cullen," she insisted with passion. "I am here receiving an education. We might be able to see around the opportunities that affords me or beyond the reason why that is the case. We might even be able to set it aside temporarily, but it cannot not exist."

Considering her words they impressed me. "You speak wisdom, Miss Platt. May we both, then, attempt, as much as we can, to set it aside for my visit?"

"We may try, but on my part, I offer no assurance that I will be able to successfully do so," she informed me matter-of-factly.

"Fair enough," I told her. We walked a few feet with silence between us. "Do you think the years have changed you much?" I asked gently.

"Could they not?" she retorted. "Have the years not changed you?" she parried.

"No," I answered sadly. "The years have changed me little. My life is very repetitive apart from your letters, which have brought me much delight, and time seems to have very little of a mark on me," I confessed.

"This is the most privacy we are going to get," she whispered seemingly more aware than I regarding the distance of her chaperon to us.

"Ah," I told her equally quietly. "Thank you," I told her louder. "I owe you more than these two words."

"You are welcome," she said matching my pitch.

Considering her whispered words and the distance between us and Miss Griffin, I reconsidered what I was planning on doing and offered God a prayer once more requesting that if I was not in accordance to His will, that it would be made clear to me. After a few moments and there was nothing but silence, I moved forward.

"Since time is of the essence, do I have your permission to be blunt?" I asked her.

"Please be," she replied her tone conveying some nervousness.

"I wrote to your father for permission to come for the purpose of ascertaining your thoughts in us courting," I explained trying to modulate my tone to be both transparent and earnest.

She inhaled a sharp breath, but her face held little information about her thoughts.

For a moment I missed the transparency of her expressions that had been present when she had spoken about the books that I had snuck into her space at the hospital. Dismissing my thought, as it was a silly thing to wish for, I divulged, "I am not a good match for you. I have been alone a long time. I am set in my ways as a bachelor. I am not accustomed to company. I work a lot, go hiking alone regularly, and," I paused while lowering my voice, "cannot father children." I looked sideways at her.

She was looking ahead with a look that I guessed as her waiting for me to continue.

"If you agreed for us to court, then you must know that if it were to result in marriage, it was be a chaste marriage. I would expect you to fill your days working or doing whatever made you happy, but I cannot offer you a conventional relationship," I disclosed and then waited hoping that I had said enough for her to reject me.

After many long minutes she spoke, "That is quite the proposal. I have heard none like it. Have you told my father?"

"Not everything, but enough." I waited some more and when she did not speak I continued. "I believe it best for you to find someone else that will give you things I cannot. I do not wish to limit you in any way. And I believe a union with me would be greatly in your disservice. Consequently when I had spoken to your father about your schooling, I had stated that I did not intend to pursue a courtship with you. However, through our correspondence my affection and attachment to you has grown. Accordingly, in spite of my reservations and opinions I believed it important to ask your father."

"You never intended on us courting?" she asked in a far away tone.

"No," I confessed. "So know that if you decline my offer for us to court, that I will take no offense, and, in fact, would most likely be relieved. You owe me nothing. In fact, it is I who owes you. I deeply wish for you to feel no obligation towards me in any way. My only request, if I may, and if you are agreeable, is that I would like to remain in your life, as I have these last few years. I do not wish to lose our letters."

The silence stretched out, seemingly creating a chasm between us. It was she who made the bridge. "Well, you are not suave or charming, I will give you that," she stated like someone might announce the weather for the day.

Pursing my lips, I was unsure of the intention of her statement or what she was trying to say, so I was unsure of how to respond.

After a long while and us nearly at the end of the park she stated perfunctorily, "Thank you for your honesty. You have given me a lot to consider. Could we table this conversation to say, tomorrow, and just enjoy each other for the rest of today?"

I smiled at her nervously. "Certainly."

"So, tell me Dr. Cullen what are your opinions on Mr. Ford's ship Oscar II?" she asked in an appreciated abrupt change of conversation.

"I believe his effort to be noble, but I cannot help but wonder if his actions are misplaced and if perhaps his resources could be better used towards other endeavours?"

She smiled slightly and then took up the other side of the argument for fun. We walked and talked, went to the café, talked more, and enjoyed the day. It was nearly dusk when the school grounds could be seen once more.

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes," I agreed. "Shall we say nine?"

"Nine it is," she agreed quickly. "Good evening."

"Good evening," I told Miss Platt with a bow, and then turned to her companion. "It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Griffin."

"You as well, Dr. Cullen," she told me before the two of them walked away.

"Well, does he desire to court you?" Miss Griffin asked Esme in a high-pitched almost squeal.

Esme said nothing in response.

"Esme, please. Tell me something," Miss Griffin begged although her voice was so subdued, I almost could not hear it.

"He proposed us courting," Esme replied crisply her voice carrying clearly to me.

"Then why are you so glum?" Miss Griffin asked sounding confused.

"He has some conditions. I should have expected them, but they caught me by surprise nonetheless. We will not proceed unless I agree to them," she explained her voice growing harder to catch in the growing distance between us.

"Then, I guess, you have–" the closing of a door cut off Miss Griffin's voice.

Despite my curiosity, I was glad to give Miss Platt the privacy she deserved. Purposefully, I travelled back to my hotel room in a roundabout route to aid my thinking. In my room I changed into attire more suitable for running. At the edge of the forest, I left my shoes and socks and ran barefoot. My thoughts were knotted into something unrecognisable. I came to a clearing and lay down looking up at the sky. My prayers reflected the twin pulls I felt within me.

On one hand, the day had been even better than our letters and I wanted nothing more than to have my life filled with days like today. On the other hand was the undeniable knowledge that if I courted Miss Platt and we were to wed, then I would be removing her from the possibility of children, grandchildren, the pleasure of the flesh, and many more things. What she would lose out weighed what I could give her, thus any courtship did not seem like a fair exchange. Nevertheless, the whole purpose in sending the letter to Mr. Platt, and thus me making this offer to her, was to put to bed my internal contradictions when it came to Miss Platt. Despite my confidence that I was a poor choice for her, a small part of me hoped that she would, once more, come up with a possibility I would have never considered.

This era believed women to be weak and in need of protection. I was certain that women were not weaker than men, and certainly Miss Platt was one of the bravest and most courageous persons I knew. She seemed completely unafraid of me for start. I worked at pushing these thoughts aside and focusing on my prayers. Ultimately, whatever the outcome, I wished to be in the will of God. The question that would not leave me was: how I was to know what would be within God's will.

My thoughts were far from calm, but less entangled, an hour to dawn as I ran back, collected my socks and shoes, and went to the hotel to change. Ensuring that my going and returning caused no suspicion and grooming myself appropriately, I arrived at the college ten minutes to nine. Miss Platt and Miss Griffin came down a few minutes after nine.

After the customary introductions, Miss Platt and I walked ahead with Miss Griffin following behind. Miss Platt took us to a different park. I noticed that Miss Griffin was further behind today, enough to allow the words that passed between Miss Platt and I to go unheard by her.

"I have some questions," Miss Platt informed me abruptly as if we had not just been engaging in a debate about the merits of war generally.

"Ask," I told her.

"Do you hold any interest in me as a man to a woman?" she asked bashfully.

The bluntness and impropriety of the question surprised me. Of all the things I had considered she might ask, this had not even come into consideration. While simultaneously I was grateful for the question, as it indicated that she had taken my conditions seriously, I could not help wonder what conclusions she might have drawn for her to ask such a thing.

"Undeniably so," I admitted just as bashfully. She was without question the most incredible creature I had ever come across, and although I would never wish for her to become a vampire, I could not help but wonder what she would be like if we had met in that manner instead.

"Can you explain your condition, then, please, because you being more inclined towards men but unwilling to act on your desire was the best conclusion I had come up with last night from that particular stipulation," she disclosed to me.

I grimaced at the image her confession had created, since, for some disturbing reason, my mind had chosen to place Caius in that role, while I was also proud of her deductive powers. "I have a contagious disease that lives in my fluids," I told her, as this was what I had considered to be the closest to the truth that could be admitted. "To be with you in that way would be to condemn you to carry what I have. I do not wish you to become infected and had assumed that would also be your preference."

The silence was deafening, but I could almost hear the cogs in her brain turning.

"In that case, will you find your release with someone else, someone who carries the same illness as you?" she asked awkwardly as if she loathed to even voice it.

Her assumptions saddened me, but they were not entirely unexpected. Men's incapacity to practice fidelity in such circumstances was certainly common folk knowledge. On more occasions than I cared to admit, I had overheard nurses telling each other such nonsense.

"No, I would remain faithful to you," I told her solemnly and then became silence as I had no intent to lead the conversation. Instead I simply enjoyed the silence between us and her presence.

"And you would want faithfulness in return?" she questioned after many minutes had passed.

"I would prefer it, but I doubt I could deny you anything," I told her honestly.

Her head bobbed slightly in thought. "It is a lot to give up. To never experience a kiss or physical intimacy," she concluded. "Or to do so in secret and then have you pretend to be their father." She paused briefly before continuing. "A life of chastity or a life of deceit."

Agreeing I told her, "It is, but it is more than that. What I have is a secret that you can never tell anyone. If someone were to find out, I would become an experiment. I can't stay in a place too long. I can't make close friends."

"It affects your appearance?" she asked at a whisper.

"Yes," I told her wondering if she meant my looks intended to lure in humans or if she had discovered my lack of aging.

"Voice?" she questioned.

"Yes," I answered beginning to become concerned of what else she had noticed.

"And your temperature?" she added.

"Yes," I told her expecting that one.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Many things," I replied glad to know her list put her far away from my secret. "None of which are terribly important for this conversation," I told her hoping that she would hear in my tone that I wished to say no more on the subject.

"But eventually I would know them all, and then I would be a liability to you remaining a secret," she deduced.

"Potentially," I agreed uncertain if I should say more.

"If I chose it, could I become infected?" she enquired.

"Yes," I told her truthful, as my ability to deny her if she requested it seemed unlikely, but given my views and practical inability to do such a thing attempted to dissuade her, "but it would limit your life greatly and the first couple of years we would have to live in seclusion."

Many minutes passed between us before she spoke again. "You're trusting me with a lot, Dr. Cullen. I could easily make your life very difficult," she informed me.

"Yes, I am aware," I agreed. "Thus, my original intent for us not to court."

She tilted her head like this made sense, and after a minute concluded, "So, even if I decline your offer and we go back to writing to one another, I can never utter this to another soul."

"If you wish me and yourself to remain alive, then yes," I affirmed.

"It is that serious?" she asked her voice shaking.

"I cannot stress how serious it is," I told her emphatically.

Her lips were pursed and her jaw set as she nodded in assent. "If I were to consent, and our courtship progress, would you want a wedding?" she asked tightly seemingly determined to get every question she might have answered in one fell swoop. It reminded me of when I had told her that setting her bone would be painful. She just became determined to face it and soldiered on.

"If you wanted one, then something small," I told her after a minute's reflection. It was not something I had pondered prior. "Possibly here, so to decrease the number of your family members whom would come. A few friends could attend, perhaps. The less people that know me the better." Unfortunately the last sentence was the sticking point. It was too risky to have a large wedding.

"You would have no friends or family to come?" she pressed.

"Any close family I would have are in England and my friends are spread throughout the globe and would not be able to attend," I explained.

The minutes stretched between us. "And would I see my family again?" she asked when she found her voice once more.

Her powers of deduction were impressive. "You could go and visit, but I could not," I answered her.

She nodded letting that sink in before she asked her next question. "What's the longest we could stay in a place?"

Once again her capacity to understand the full ramifications of what I had said was astounding. I consoled myself with the knowledge that thus far it had seemed that my intent on having her say no was working and that she had as truthful of a picture that I could give her, while keeping her safe from the law.

"I think maybe ten years," I told her, "but I've never tried for more than three prior, so I am uncertain. And I have contingencies in place in case someone becomes too suspicious and I have to move quickly. So, even if we planned on a decade, it could end up being a month."

She said nothing and kept walking. A few minutes later she spoke again, "And I could work?"

This was an easy answer. "It would thrill me to no end if you worked. I want you to be happy. If being with me will give you anything less than the happiest you can imagine for yourself, then say no, please. Otherwise, we will both end up miserable. I will take no offense."

She smiled, but it had sadness in it. "Where do you usually live?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

This was an easy answer. "In the northern states," I told her. "The west is becoming more settled. Perhaps in a few decades they will want a doctor, for now Maine to Montana and no more south than the Mason-Dixon line."

"What about the other stuff you said about being a bachelor?" she pressed.

These were answers I had rehearsed. "I like to read a lot and hike alone, like I previously mentioned. As part of my role as a doctor I must keep up on articles published in journals and such. We would have separate bedrooms with you having the master suite. We would have to act as if we shared it, if there was ever any need to entertain. And the hospital would expect me to bring you to events."

"So, a lot of lying and pretending?" she asked after more minutes of silence had passed.

"Yes," I told her honestly. She had seen through my words into the heart of the matter. It left me feeling a bit exposed. After a pause I added, "I try not to lie explicitly."

"Have you to me?" she asked with no pause between my answer and the question.

"No," I told her earnestly hoping that she would believe me.

"But you're not completely honest either?" she guessed.

"No, nor would I be," I disclosed. "The more you know the more danger you are in. The truth is deadly in this case."

Her forehead wrinkled and her nose scrunched up. "That requires a lot of trust," she finally said.

"Yes," I agreed.

"And it's a huge sacrifice. I get to teach and use my degree, but I will be scorned and pitied for bearing you no children. Or be a harlot," she seemed to tack on like that realization had just come upon her, and then just as quickly she added, "something I refuse to do."

"Yes," I answered sadly, but pleased that she was seeing with clear eyes.

"This is the root to why you didn't want to court me before," she deduced.

"Yes," I admitted feeling very exposed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her deep in thought before she asked her next question, "What changed?"

"You."

"Me?" she asked surprised.

"Yes," I insisted, but believed that further explanation was needed. "You are older now and in the village where I was born local women were in their mid twenties when they got married and often had quite a bit of say to whom they courted and married. I know that is not the custom here and I debated a lot with myself, but I cannot change the way that my upbringing caused me to think about courtship. As you already reasoned, I am risking quite a bit in being honest, but two things forced my hand in this matter. One, I could not ethically or morally trick anyone into being with me. If we are to be together, then I want the relationship to be based on trust and mutual agreement. And two, after much internal debate, I determined you strong enough to handle a truth like this and not crack. It is a lot of pressure and few would have the temperament for it."

Minutes passed and then over ten until finally she spoke, "Thank you for trusting me."

Her response gave some sense of relief, as it seemed to indicate that I had judged her correctly. There were so many ways this could have gone poorly. What did it mean that she had handled such heavy and difficult manners with forwardness, courage, and grace? Irrelevant of the question, I hoped she would continue to do so, as the cost otherwise would possibly be very unpleasant.

"You're welcome," I told her unsure of how else to respond.

Minutes passed between us. She was lost in her thoughts and mine were distracting me.

She jarred me back to the task at hand when she asked, "Would you want a long or short engagement?"

"Does that mean you are considering my offer of courtship?" I asked in return shocked. Certainly my answers today were enough for her no.

"Is that not what you are asking me to do?" she asserted with a hint of indignation.

"Yes," I answered cautiously her question and tone leading me to believe that a trap lay in the future.

"Then would it not be prudent of me to have a full understanding?" she pressed on sounding like a lawyers trying to win a debate.

"Yes," I agreed hesitantly.

"Then, please answer the question. I want to know what you are proposing and thus my options in full." Her tone left no room for disagreement.

She had become a formidable woman, and I could only imagine that the years would make her more so. It pleased me that she had progressed from simply not being scared of me, to brazenly inviting me to her parent's home, to the woman who had just put me in my place, as she was absolutely correct, of course.

"I would leave that matter entirely up to you," I told her, as this made a huge difference in her life and little in mine.

After considering my answer she told me, "If I were to agree to your proposal, I would first and foremost like to finish school. I assumed you would have no objections to this?"

"None," I agreed, although I disliked the direction she was going.

She nodded as if she already knew this, which she did in fairness, and then continued. "I cannot say for sure, but given what you said, and that I have been away from the farm for the better part of four years, I believe that I would like to be with my parents at least through Christmas. I have not been with them for the holidays all these years of my schooling and to be truthful it is the one thing I miss. Also, on the presumption that we are to marry, from your description, it is unlikely that I will have the opportunity once wed. Despite your assurance that I could visit them, I cannot see my father understanding you not travelling with me. There would be too many questions, especially around the holidays."

"It could be five Christmases," I insisted fully understanding her sentiments, as mine had been similar after my change. All these centuries later Christmas was still the most difficult season for me. It was only after the words were spoken that I might have conveyed to her anything other than my suggestion that she say no to me. Thus, continuing I asserted, "We could have a long engagement only for you to marry someone else. Truly, I only want to see you happy." I also reasoned that if she was considering a courtship at all, the longer of amount time that passed the more likely a human suitor would catch her eye, and she would see even more clearly the folly of my offer.

She eyed me suspiciously. After a long while, she stated definitely, "You are exceptionally good at saying no to yourself and not taking that which you want."

After a careful and considerate reflection, I admitted bashfully, "Yes," impressed that she saw this so clearly when I had never quite seen it that way prior.

"Is your humility and tendency for self-sacrifice just in regards to me?" she asked curiously.

After much consideration, I answered, "I would say generally, at least that is what I am told by others. They also have impressed upon me that I have unnatural self-control. I do not see these things as they do, but that is what I have been told."

"Hmmm," she voiced while she seemed to be pondering something.

Her noises and look made me nervous.

"Do you want me more than you are telling me?" she asked softly.

My relief that she had not been pondering my nature was palatable. "Possibly more than I can admit to myself," I told her reluctantly. Believing that I needed to explain I continued, "I live a half-life, Miss Platt. Other than work, there is little to hold me. Yet, instead of focusing on what I do not have, I try to be grateful for what God has given me. I try not to think about what ifs or the future.

"I am here speaking my truths the best, as I understand them, because your letter implied that you wished for us to court and I decided to trust you with as much information as I could. And to do so, to take the risk, I must admit, has a tone of being unethical for me. I fully believe that I am not good enough for you, mostly due to the limitations that being with me would bring you. I am here, not because of my desire for you, but because of my belief in your capacity to choose your own path.

"But, honestly, I am surprised that we are even having this conversation. I was certain your father would deny my request." I chuckled a little at where I had found myself. Stopping I turned to face her. The hope that had resided within me that I had thought was successfully quashed swelled.

She turned to look at me.

Miss Griffin also paused giving us privacy.

If I were human, there would possibly be nothing greater than her saying yes. However, I was a vampire, a creature that by all accounts was a part of a species of monster, and I would under no circumstances desire for Miss Platt to be faced with a similar demon like the one that dwelt within me. Yet, my hope stopped me from being too forceful and encouraged me to take a step of faith giving her everything.

Gazing into her eyes while trying to make sure I did not use my power of persuasion I told her, "You have already given me so much. You owe me nothing, Miss Platt. Hear me, nothing. Not a thing. At the same time, in full disclosure I must confess that I cannot imagine a better way to spend my days than to come home to you for us to have the kind of conversation like we did yesterday. It is as simple as that for me."

Her eyes dropped and almost at a whisper she asked me, "Do you love me?"

This was a difficult question to answer honestly, but I had not lied thus far, and I was not going to start at this juncture. "I have great affection for you and I feel closer to you than any other creature on this planet."

She closed her eyes as if it were a heavy blow I had dealt her. The scent of tears entered the space, but none appeared. After a few deep breaths, she began walking again. "This is a lot to take in," she admitted. "Do you need an answer soon?" she asked getting back to practical matters.

This was an easy answer. "You may take as long as you need. I am in no rush."

After a few more deep breaths she spoke, "There is a ball in the spring. It is a mixed affair. My father was expecting me to meet someone before then or at that event by the latest. Could I give you my response no later than then?"

It was an eternity away and practically tomorrow. "That seems more than fair," I told her.

"Enough of that," she proclaimed suddenly. "You were arguing against the merit of war."

Smiling at her, I followed her change of topic. We had a splendid afternoon. Conversation was easy and although we often took up opposite sides of an issue for the thrill of it, our wide-ranging debates only increased my appreciation of her. Saying my farewell and walking back to my hotel, I came to the conclusion that even when she decided no, it had been worth spending time with her. For the first time, as my mind reviewed the last two days while also packing and heading to the train station, a small part of me wondered if I would ever meet her equal. Travelling back home on the train, I tried not to consider how things would be handled in the remotest of chances that she might say yes. Certainly a no would be much simpler to handle.

Over the next weeks much of my time was spent in continued deep consideration. I had concluded, with a fair amount of certainty, that it was possible for us to live together and that I could find a way to hide my nature from her. Of course, the better option would be that at the upcoming social or in some other means that she might find a human male that struck her fancy. Then there was always the possibility of me taking back my offer of courtship. It was rare, but not unheard of. The one thing that stopped any serious consideration of that option was the harm it would do to her and my reputation, although it would damage her prospects far worse than any impact it might have to me.

My explanation about an infection was truth, as much as I understood the nature of the transformation and gave a way to explain my oddities that kept her from knowing my secret. Truly, nothing except my skin in the sun or my diet would ever give me being a vampire away. She might have guesses, or even know that I was different in some tangible ways. She already did, in fact, given a few of her questions, but even if Aro were to touch her, he would be able to see that I had kept the secret. Because even if I might like an exception to the law, my time in Volturra had taught me that Aro did not play favourites. I would suspect that he would convict his own mother if need be, assuming such a thing were possible.

No, trying to break the law and hide it was the wrong way to go about things. I had to trust that my lies by omission would be enough to keep her alive, and that she was wise enough to know not to ask. Both things seemed to be true at the moment. An improbable yes would make that trickier; there was no doubt about that. However, I could not help the joy that the thought of her being my wife brought me. For the first time since I had knelt in prayer about this matter, a future with Miss Platt, while keeping her on the safe side of the law, seemed possible. Even the chance of her choosing to spend the rest of her days with me made the prospect of managing to keep the secret hidden worth it. I had given her reasonable answers that indicated nothing about my nature without lies. For the first time the nervousness that had plagued me about my capacity to manage both dissipated.

The one thing that dampened my spirits was the realization that eventually she would discover that I do not age. I had considered the last four years, but not the implication for the next thirty, if that were to happen. Why had I not considered that before? It was like my mind had been so certain of her father's no and then too overwhelmed with us speaking regarding these matters, that many of the future implications had not been considered. One of her questions had mentioned my appearance. I still was uncertain to what she had referred to and had no desire to allow that conversation. Nevertheless, I chuckled internally. I should have known that a few cosmetic changes would do little to fool Miss Platt's keen eye.

A horrid thought came to mind. What if she were willing to wed me simply because I was a doctor that other humans perceived as being handsome? Or worse, that she felt pressured for us to wed for her family's sake? Carefully reviewing our time together and our letters, I could find nothing to suggest that Miss Platt was shallow in character, not to mention that my restrictions should put her off if she happened to be. Given Mr. Platt's reluctant agreement for me to converse with her, I had to assume that her parents would place no such pressure on her. Contrary to my mental assurances the doubt these concerns created would not leave me.

Since the conversation was complete, all I could think about was the next steps. On the slight chance she would say yes, my lack of aging was the only thing that I could see causing a true problem between us, and the potential of it to cause her to ask the wrong questions. Almost regularly when these worries began to consume me, the priest's words would reverberate within me. Then, instead of fretting or trying to solve this problem immediately, I reassured myself that God had brought me this far and that I could trust in the will of my Heavenly Father.

If I were honest, the lifespan of most human women was about fifty, and even if it was extremely unconventional for an older woman to be with a younger man, with some creativity I was confident we could find a way. Perhaps the new western states would be more willing to entertain unconventional relationships. These were the most unlikely of problems for the most unlikely of futures. Since her no was far more plausible, I put thoughts of the future aside and focused on the problems at hand, like how I was going to manage these next months waiting for an answer from Miss Platt. The only true possibility was to trust in God's will and take one day at a time.

New Years came and went. It was spent caring for patients, as I had for over the last century. The celebration of bringing in 1916 bothered me, which was odd, as the bringing in a new year had barely given me a second thought for over a century. The whole day I was testy, irritated, and had an irrational desire to growl at every bed that I visited where families or friends were visiting to celebrate with the loved one in the hospital. It was only once I was in the forest running and screaming my prayers that it dawned on me what my problem had been. I was jealous.

The thought was so forceful and so sudden that it caused me to stop in my tracks. Immediately I feel to my knees. Jealousy was such an ugly emotion. And what did I have to be jealous about? Humans and human rituals had never caused me to be jealous before? It must be Miss Platt. She was the only new thing in my life, the new particle in my equation. My first reaction was to be irrationally mad at her and to want to drive her out of my life so that things could return to the way they had been. I did not want to be jealous.

Instead I stayed in the forest on my knees praying asking God to remove this emotion from me. The lamentations of Job came to mind. Reflecting over this book from scriptures and my actions, I once again began to see the blessings in my life, rather than what I did not have. Gratitude, rather than jealousy, slowly began to become my primary emotion, and I stilled completely focusing my attention on God's creation that surrounded me. There were the ants under me labouring, the beetles in the trees, the birds, the sounds of the leaves and the trees and the moisture. It was all a gift. My life was a gift. I could have died. Instead, I had been given the capacity to heal others.

Once my thought process and mind was calmer, I began to ponder what had caused the jealousy in the first place. I reviewed my memories starting with the most recent and moving backwards slowly examining each moment. It took me till nearly the start of my shift to realise my jealousy was due to my desire to have someone to mark the holiday with. I wanted to be seen and heard and acknowledged and cared for as the other staff members and patients had been. For the first time since meeting Miss Platt I contemplated the cost of her saying no. It was not pleasant. She had left a mark on me without me even realising that she had.

I did not go to work that evening, as working through things had impeded me too greatly. The next shift I apologised and made my excuses. My supervisor told me not to let it happen again, but let it slide. I picked up an extra shift to make up for it, which seemed to appease him.

For all my intentions of being honourable, all my rationalizations on why is was best for her to find a human to marry, I was unable to shake the thought of what I would do if Miss Platt said no. One thing was clear: my need for company was greater than I had previously believed. Truthfully, a male companion would be preferable, and the only way that would happen is if I changed someone. The list of qualities in a human that might make for good company, but also someone who would respect human life and thus follow my path of consuming animal blood that I had prayed for over the decades began to take shape and become firmer.

It had to be someone with a good heart, a desire to serve others, and who was empathetic and caring. Ideally someone who liked to read and to discuss literature, who had a curious mind, and did not take offense through debate. The fundamental quality was that it must be someone who was dying. Otherwise, it seemed like I would be committing a murder. Not to mention that if I was unsuccessful, no life would truly be lost.

Ironically, the thought that caused me the longest pause was my ponderings if changing someone was me playing God. My sire had not intended to change me. I had concluded through the years that despite my nature, my transformation was something God had intended for me. Even though I had initially doubted God's will and had attempted to take my own life, my survival convinced me that my work on this earth was not complete. It was that assurance that God was still with me that had given me strength to resist human blood and to become a doctor through the years. Why God had me become something that I had hunted and previously understood as being nothing apart from evil was beyond me. But a chance encounter was entirely different than me purposefully choosing to make someone else into the creature I had become.

What if the person I chose to turn was someone God had already determined should die? Who was I to stop that process? Yet, at the same time, I did it all the time as a doctor. Was there a difference between extending someone's life five years or five thousand? None of us, myself included, would live forever. Most of the time it seemed terribly arrogant and self-centred to consider changing someone solely for the purpose of me no longer being alone. It left me at a stalemate. After more days of thinking it over, the only conclusion drawn was that either way, whether I was meant to change someone or not, God would have to give me a sign just as He had regarding Miss Platt. Some measure of faith would have to be involved.

A few weeks after my visit with Miss Platt, a letter arrived from her thanking me for my visit in the most formal of terms and then pages upon pages of her thoughts on how young people should be taught. I did not know how to interpret what she had sent, so my reply was as if our visit and the conversation of courtship had never transpired. Yet, I could not forget the deadline she had set. The days seem to go by slower and slower the closer to March the calendar became. The next letter contained nothing about our future and simply continued our debate. It was both comforting and exasperating.

The following letter that arrived filled me with the same anticipation and dread that the previous two had. I reminded myself that it was probably no different than the ones prior. Nonetheless, taking the same precautions, I waited until being inside before opening it.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

You will find no well crafted thoughts in what follows. I do wish I could make my intentions known to you in person, but, as that is not possible, this must do.

First, I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude, not just for my education, which in many ways is invaluable, but also for giving me the choice of courtship in the first place. You were completely in your rights to have either said nothing, letting our relationship continue in a friendly manner through correspondence, or to have stated your intention to court without the truthful, if not bleak, picture you painted on your visit. Your consideration of my best interests, while trusting me to know my own mind and heart, as well as having the capacity to choose my own path speaks actions into the words of the man I have come to know over these past years.

Second, I believe it essential that I inform you that I did not make this decision lightly. Given your work and the nature of things, I am well aware that the chance of me seeing my parents again after our marriage is slim, and that any future together would be outside of societal expectations. Your concern that I would be so overcome by the idea of marriage and us courting that I would dismiss your warnings outright is a legitimate one, as is your concern that I would allow some sense of debt or obligation to pressure me into an act that would not suit me long-term. Certainly marriage is a choice that is only made once, and I have observed my peers caving to one or both of your concerns. I cannot completed assuage these worries, as when it comes to the matters of the heart, no one is completely objective. Nevertheless, I have attempted through these months to evaluate things rationally, as you are fond of reminding me when my prose have lacked clarity.

That said, after much thought, I have decided to accept your proposal. Please make arrangements with my father.

My hand involuntarily opened up and the letter fluttered to the floor. It was impossible. I was undeserving. Despite being fully aware of the cost she would pay, she had said yes. It was like a miracle. Yet, the possibility that God could have given me the gift of Miss Platt's yes would not penetrate. As my mind reviewed her words over and over again, their intention could not be mistaken. My mind was awash in shock and the implications. She was meant to say no. She was supposed to say no. A yes was not in her best interest, and yet clearly that was what she had chosen. Over an hour had passed when I became aware of being in my home the letter still lying on the floor. Picking it up, I began reading it once more.

I would prefer a long engagement, if preferable one that gave me at least one year with my parents, if possible two Christmases, but I doubt Father will agree. Even though women of your village married into their mid twenties, by the time I am suggesting I will almost be considered too old for marriage. Truly, much of the pressure my father is making upon me is that I will turn twenty-one in July after graduation and he sees my upcoming age as almost an old maid. Even if we were to wed before my twenty-third birthday, it might just be too much for him. Perhaps, it is because I am all that he has left and a girl at that, but he worries greatly for me. I leave this between the two of you to decide.

Considering your requests regarding the ceremony itself, my preference would be in a church, even if there were to be no reception. As I am graduating soon and desiring a longer engagement, you will need to use your job to explain why we cannot have the wedding in my parent's parish.

For the first years of our marriage, I would appreciate it if you could find a location where we could be for at least five to seven years. I understand that circumstances beyond your control might prevent this. Nonetheless, the longest you can do would be appreciated. As you will most likely need to purchase our first home without me being present, please find a place that is modest, meets your needs, and is no more than three bedrooms.

If any of my requests are not agreeable to you, or you have rescinded your offer, please let me know before the ball, which will be held April 8th.

Sincerely,

Miss Esme Anne Platt

My chest compressed in a vice, while I simultaneously felt lighter and freer than I ever had. Assuming Mr. Platt gave his consent, I would get married, be a husband. Me. The impossibility of those words stretched out in front of me. My mind began racing once more. I really had expected a no. She was even offering me a way out, giving me a deadline to withdraw my offer of courtship. I should. It would be the most rational choice, not to mention that it would save me the humiliation of receiving Mr. Platt's no.

* * *

 _A/N: I have to say that I'm excited to hear your thoughts about this chapter, particularly how Esme is portrayed here, and the answers Carlisle gave, as we are truly venturing into AU territory._


	8. Trials

**Chapter 8:** **Trials  
**

* * *

Staring at the letter once more, I couldn't decide if her words were a temptation or a reward for me stepping out in faith. Certainly, withdrawing myself would be best for her. Yet the moment my mind began to consider how to go about doing such a thing, her words claiming otherwise and my heart's desire to have her in my life prevented me from serious movement in that direction. At the same time, a small part of my mind, the part that before the priest's words had been the loudest, reminded me the tremendous risks to her primarily, but also to me. As these contradictory thoughts and emotions warred within me, for the first time, something within me said that taking her as my wife would be worth the risk. The idea of having her in my company regularly, of being able to have engaging conversations habitually gave me a sense of contentment I had yet to experience. Nevertheless, whatever steps and precautions I could take to minimize that risk was prudent.

What was completely baffling was why would she give up having children and everything else for me. I could not understand no matter how many times I tried to puzzle it out. The only reasonable response for such an impossibility was to get on my knees and pray in gratitude. So I did, and then on my way to work went in to the parish where the priest had spoken to me and donated a year's salary. It was probably unwise to spend money when it might be needed to keep Miss Platt safe, but I had little else to offer to God in appreciation.

It took a few days for the shock and absolute jubilation to leave me.

That first night at the hospital fellow doctors that would have usually given me a wide berth clapped me on the back congratulating me. My incredulousness did not allow me to enquire to what they were congratulating me, especially when I heard a few muttering to each other that it was about time "I got some" and how "hopefully the stick up my backside was permanently removed." These comments were as confusing to me as their congratulations. My best guess was that they were assuming I had engaged in intercourse with a woman, which made no sense given the era's insistence on marriage before intimacy, even in the lower classes.

On the third shift after the news, a doctor, considered by many to be religiously devout who had refrained from the round of congratulations, and I were momentarily alone in the changing room.

"What has altered your mood, Dr. Cullen?" he asked appearing simultaneously concerned and amused.

The fact that he asked jolted me. Thus it took me a few second to consider an answer. "A fine woman I have known for many years and I had thought would have dismissed me for courtship has agreed."

He smiled widely. "That is a reason to celebrate, so the numbskulls weren't too far off," he ribbed.

"She has not given me her hand," I disagreed with him.

His smile fell slightly and he paused momentarily before speaking. "That might be true, but if she has agreed, then you have already won her heart, now you must simply win her head and father."

"Yes," I agreed smiling tightly, nodding, and leaving for my rounds.

When the shift slowed some of his words returned to me. He was wrong in his ignorance. I had seemed to have won over her head, but her heart and especially her father was highly dubious. Then as if these considerations opened the corral gates, my mind swam in consequences, significantly lowering my mood. I began to seriously and deeply consider what it would mean to have Miss Platt as my wife. Of course, I had considered the implication prior, but it was different having not just Mr. Platt's yes, but also hers. What had been previously conjectural began to take on form. The first of these realities was that her humanity meant that her lifespan was limited. I had already considered how to keep the secret from her, and had made her aware of the risks as much as I could. However, these thoughts were different in content. They were about my long-term fidelity.

Her mortality asked me to make her a passing fling in the face of my own longevity. If she was never turned, then she would die and I would be left alone once more, most likely missing her company. The contemplation I had gone through previously of creating a male companion seemed more rational at this point than the complications associated with wedding Miss Platt. The problem was that my heart was already too attached to Miss Platt to make that thought more than a passing train. As she was human, I had already determined that there was no way to know for sure if she was my mate, and that I was unwilling to turn her just on the chance that she might be. That left me in a challenging position. There really was no good solution. Did I reject the joy I could receive in the short-term even though it most likely would bring me long-term pain?

If God was testing me, I could not imagine a greater trial. My only conclusion was that He was asking me to fully live in the moment. Up to this point my living in the moment was my way of trusting God by reminding myself that I could not change the past nor control my future. But this was more. This was putting not just my life and career on the line, but my heart, and the life of someone else. Out of the blue God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac came to mind.

Mentally reviewing the story did not seem like enough, so I retrieved my father's Bible. Slowly I read the story often mentally comparing words to the original Hebrew. Did I have the same level of faith to be willing to offer to God that which I held most dear? If I did, what was it that I held most dear? Was it my sense of controlling my own future or Miss Platt herself or my heart?

The truth was that Abraham did not know that God would provide the ram and stop his hand. Was the same being asked of me? Could I step into the unknown and risk so much? She had already said yes, but I had always thought of her as brave. Me agreeing to her yes and proceeding meant letting go of my previously held expectations of my future, it would mean not just living in the moment to avoid the past and future, but fully stepping into it.

Was that what Abraham had done? Had he stepped fully into the moment in faith, letting go of all expectations except that God would keep His promise? If saying yes to Miss Platt was what God was asking me, then what was the promise being offered to me? Was He offering me one at all? I did not know. Never before had I considered the possibility of receiving a direct message from God like Abraham. For days upon days my mind mulled over these different elements. The truth was that there was no answer, and I had no crystal ball or future-teller to see what was the least harmful future.

The first steps on this path had been because I had wanted to put my heart's yearning to rest. That intention was accomplished. Just like before on her porch, Miss Platt had created a previously inconceivable third way. It was certainly more than letters passed through post. And although it was still risky to her, it did not require her death or transformation. Her view was more limited than mine, but that did not make her voice less valid. If she was willing to trust me, trust in an unknown, and take a leap of faith, what was stopping me? In fact her jump was greater than mine, because she also trusted me to do well by her. Perhaps that was what made the difference between us. She believed in me enough to take the leap. Did I think the same of her? After a prolonged inward searching my answer was that my mind said no, but my heart said yes. For days this debate bounced within me creating internal havoc.

Honestly, I never fully solved it. Simply, one day I decided to risk as much as Miss Platt was and placed the letter to her father informing him of Miss Platt's yes and that we had come to agreeable terms. Of course, Mr. Platt had the last say. He could always say no. He had made it very clear in the beginning that he had not given me a yes. Penning him was the most joyful fearsome moment of my life. Even as the letter left my hand, my mind was still clouded by uncertainty that I was doing the right thing by her or me. The part regarding negotiating with him lay heavy on me, as I was still of the conviction that I would refuse to exchange money for her hand. Like the first time I had written him, I delayed unnecessarily. It was only Miss Platt's upcoming ball and his arbitrary deadline that truly forced me to place it in the postbox.

Dear Mr. Platt,

Hopefully this letter finds you and Mrs. Platt well and in good spirits.

I write to you to inform you that to my great surprise Miss Platt has agreed to a courtship and that we be wed. In your last letter you had mentioned a need for us to discuss long-term implications, if this were to be the case. I anticipate hearing back from you regarding what your thoughts are on this matter.

Before you make your decision, there are a few matters to bring to your attention. The first is that I would prefer a long engagement. I have two reasons to request such a thing. One, I am not in a position to have a woman in my accommodation at this time. It would be preferable to finish out my contract at my present employer and apply for a new position that would be more permanent than my usual postings. This brings me to my second reasoning. A longer engagement gives me ample time to discuss with Miss Platt her needs for a home, so that I might have the opportunity to purchase a place fitting for her prior to marriage. I wish for her to want for nothing. My expectation is that this process will take at least till the end of next summer, as my new posting would most likely start August or September of next year. However, it could take me as much as two summers from now in order to find something suitable both in terms of work and accommodation.

Regarding a second matter, I am presently employed in Buffalo, New York, no short distance from you. With the need to prepare for Miss Platt's and my joining, secure a suitable home, and change locations for a new posting, having a wedding in your community parish is unfortunately unfeasible. I deeply regret robbing you and Mrs. Platt of the honour of seeing your only daughter married by your family pastor. In exchange for this loss, I offer to pay for the entirety of the wedding, including the costs to transport you, Mrs. Platt, Miss Platt's belongings to our future location, and then yourself and Mrs. Platt home after the ceremony. I promise to find a church near our new home willing to join us in holy matrimony to Miss Platt's liking.

Thirdly, in the interim between her finishing college and our marriage I presumed that she would live with you and Mrs. Platt, and that she will wish to put her degree to use. Naturally, any income she might acquire during this time would belong to your household.

This letter and Miss Platt's agreement hold no assumption on my part that you will be agreeable to my courtship of your daughter. You made yourself and your reluctances perfectly clear. It goes without saying that I will accept whatever you determine is in her best-long term interests. Since I wish only the best for Miss Platt, I will bow out without resistance of any kind and will never speak of this if that is your decision.

Looking forward to your reply.

Most sincerely,

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

My unwritten expectation, no matter how much sadness it might bring to me, and my internal wrestling was that in this long engagement period Miss Platt would realise the true cost of becoming my wife and change her mind. Nevertheless, I penned her informing her that I was agreeable to her terms and had written her father. Perhaps her father's opinions might even wear her down. It was barely two weeks, the quickest post from him that I had ever had, when I received a reply.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

I formally agree to your proposal of marriage to my daughter, Miss Esme Platt. Any remuneration regarding her being married can be addressed closer to when a wedding date is set. My only request at this time is that you purchase for her an engagement ring, as you are not known in our community and it will make clear to all that might meet her that she is betrothed.

For her own sake a wedding two Augusts from now would be preferable. Your request regarding the location of the joining is unfortunate indeed for our family. However, I agree to your offer. My only stipulation is that it would be in a Lutheran church as that is the tradition in which we have raised Miss Platt.

Sincerely,

Mr. Platt

My eyes barely took in his words. He had agreed. It would cost me a pretty penny, but he agreed. Miss Platt would get the time with her family that she had requested and I would get a quiet affair that was needed for my sake. However, any emotion other than pleased was set aside by his continued insistence of remuneration. Before we proceeded further I felt the matter must be settled. I could not, in good conscious, allow something to proceed where I might say no in the future. That would be terribly dishonourable to Miss Platt. Thus with a heavy heart, I penned Mr. Platt a response.

Dear Mr. Platt,

I am greatly honoured that you would consider me eligible to wed Miss Platt. It would seem to me that we are agreed upon all matters bar one. Paying remuneration for a lady is contrary to my honour and how I was raised. Unfortunately, this matter is serious enough, on my part, that if this is critical for you in order for matters to proceed, I will have to decline and gracefully bow out.

I anxiously await your reply.

Sincerely,

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

It was over three weeks later when I received a letter in response. Each passing day was a torture of a sort that I had never yet experienced. If I had thought that waiting for Mr. Platt's replies was difficult in the past, they each paled in comparison. Its arrival was the moment of truth. Either we would move forward or Miss Platt and my courtship would end before it really began. My head was certain that he would read my declaration and decline the courtship, while my heart held out hope that even if he was set on the idea, that Mrs. Platt or Miss Platt or them joined would convince him otherwise. It was therefore with great inner conflict that I gingerly opened his letter.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

Given that my daughter's happiness means more to me than money, I expect you to make her happier than any woman who ever lived, especially considering the implications to me and my livelihood.

Sincerely,

Mr. Platt

Stunned, my brain took an exorbitant amount of time to absorb what he had said. He had agreed and dropped his request entirely. The last hurdle for Miss Platt and I to be wed had been tossed aside. My mind reeled and almost refused to take in the information. It took me days to consider that his withdrawal might be a sign from God that I had requested in the church. Thus, the appropriate response seemed to thank the Heavens for the blessings being bestowed upon me.

Nevertheless, this reality continued to shake me to my core. The possibility that Miss Platt might be my wife had seemed impossible; the reality of us making that true was incomprehensible. My foolish heart was becoming increasingly excited and hopeful, while I tried to remind myself that much changed for humans as times passes, and the long engagement meant that there existed a fair chance she might not plead herself to me in the end.

However, that probability was something for the future and the practical matters as a result of his letter eventually came to mind. The true pressing matter left to attend to was his request of a ring. It took me until the second Saturday morning following my receiving of his letter, after my shift had ended and the public box was open, to called Miss Platt.

"Have you corresponded with either of your parents since your decision?" I asked her after the multiple transfers, required waiting, and then necessary greetings.

I had assumed that they had already spoken to her regarding this matter, but sensed the need to confirm so.

"No," she answered in that tone, which indicated that she was bracing herself.

My surprise at her answer held my tongue for a few moments, but eventually I found it and uttered, "Your father said yes."

"Really?" she asked in disbelief.

"I have the letter here if you need," I told her inwardly pleased that she too was shocked, supporting my belief that God must have softened his heart. "He has a condition, however," I informed her having fully collected myself.

"Well, go on then, what is it?" she asked her voice holding both excitement and trepidation.

"He requested that I purchase you an engagement ring," I informed her.

"That is completely unnecessary. No one has an engagement ring and then a wedding ring. That is too much," she argued.

"He agreed to everything else," I pointed out confounding myself at taking his side. "It is a small price to pay in the scheme of things. In fact, I think it is wise, since we will not be married soon."

"We will not?" she asked taken back.

"No, I did as you requested and used my job as the reason. We will not be wed until after I finish this posting, and get the next one, even perhaps a bit more," I detailed.

"When will that be?" she questioned.

"My present post ends next summer, but told your father that I might not find appropriate accommodation till the following summer. I leave you the choice," I emphasised. "A little more than a year from now or two."

Her breath blew out hard.

"Are you alright, Miss Platt?" I checked concerned, and then quickly afterwards reminded her, "You are within your right to decline his condition and end our courting."

"Yes, I am well" she managed to say after a few moments, "and no, I have no wish to end our courting. Simply, I was excited about the marrying you part. Given your job and such things, I do want to have the time with my parents, but it is simply hard to mentally reconcile these two things."

"Are you certain?" I verified.

"Certain, Dr. Cullen," she insisted. "I know my own mind."

Even though I had heard footsteps come into the room where the telephone box was located and footsteps leaving, there must still have been someone within hearing distance, as a woman's noises of disapproval could be barely heard in the background. Feeling foolish for not considering the lack of privacy afforded to her on her end, I make a mental note to say nothing which might cause her reaction to be considered unladylike by the school administrators.

"I stand corrected," I told her with a smile on my face nevertheless pleased that the brazen girl still resided within her. Turning my tone more serious, I agreed, "We have plenty of time, and I am in accord with you. In the long term I believe your plan to be for the best. In years to come, you will appreciate the time you had with them."

"Yes, yes I am aware; I am simply just now realising that means we will be apart for this time," she admitted.

I smiled to myself. It was a wonder to be wanted like this. It was a completely surreal experience. One I did not know how to interpret and thus found baffling, although enjoyable.

Collecting myself, I agreed, "That is true. But there is always the post and I could send money so that when you are in the city we could phone one another. The time will go by quickly."

"So, a ring?" she asked abruptly.

"Yes," I answered allowing her this change of topic. "I was hoping you could tell me what your preference would be."

"I do not know. Can you give me some time? Perhaps when I next go into town I can take a look in a shop to tell you something. Right now I would not even know what to say."

"That sounds like a fine idea," I agreed.

There were no words spoken between us while she breathed.

"He really said yes?" she asked once more still sounding incredulous.

"Yes, he did." I paused for a moment. "Are you changing your mind? That would be perfectly acceptable."

"Nothing of the sort," she retorted as if I was being an imbecile.

Taken back at her tone I told her, "In that case, I will leave the decision of the wedding date up to you." I paused letting her take that in. "I was wondering if you would be willing to do something for me?"

"What would that be?" she asked curious.

"Would you please find a teaching position near your parents?" I requested. "I expect you to give your father your paycheque, but it would mean the world to me to know that you are making the world a better place."

She was silent for over four minutes before she finally said, "Yes, Dr. Cullen, I will do that for you. I might need help in the application process, though."

"Carlisle," I told her.

"Carlisle?" she asked cautiously.

"If we are to be engaged, then Dr. Cullen seems too formal for me," I told her.

"Perhaps after we wed," she allowed her tone playful adding, "but I have to admit that I enjoy calling you Dr. Cullen." Then she giggled in the most delightful way.

I smiled at her jesting.

"When will you call again?" she asked sounding serious once more.

"Next week?" I suggested.

"Yes," she agreed. "By then I will have something to say about the ring. Will you come down to present it to me?"

"Unlikely, unless me doing so is important to you," I told her.

"That is fine," she said, but she did not sound fine.

"Miss Platt," I scolded, "it is not wise to start an engagement on lies. I need honesty. I cannot promise that everything you want and ask for I can give you, but I need to know your wishes."

"I apologise," she stated formally.

"Apology accepted," I told her and then waited.

"It really is fine, Dr. Cullen," she said seeming hesitant with my name. "I simply enjoy your company and with the prospect of not seeing you again for possibly two years I was not so secretly selfishly hoping to see you again before graduation and I am even further away from you. Truly."

"Thank you for the clarification," I stated after briefly reflecting on her confession. "I cannot make any promises, but I will see what I can do. Is that acceptable?"

"More than acceptable." She took a deep breath. "And I am sorry. I will endeavour to be more transparent in the future."

"We are getting to know each other. There are bound to be miscommunications. There is nothing to forgive," I insisted. "We each will simply live and learn."

Her smile was apparent through the phone. "Agreed."

"Anything else?" I questioned.

"No," she informed me. "I will speak to you next Saturday, then."

"Yes," I agreed. "Nine in the morning acceptable?"

"Certainly," she concurred.

"Until then, Miss Platt," I told her as a salutation.

"Until then," she echoed before placing the receiver on its holder.

Then I returned the receiver to its cradle and paid for the phone call. Walking outside everything looked different. It was as if our conversation had altered the colours of the world. My mind was failing to compute her repeated insistence of wanting this union, although the words could not have been misconstrued. Simultaneously, the melancholy that had shadowed me for the past decades seemed to be the furthest thing from me. Certainly, I had prayed for a companion. It was simply that a human woman was not how I expected my prayer to be answered.

Deciding to put aside my musing for the moment and needing a distraction, it seemed prudent that I too should learn more about rings, and so spent the next four hours going shop to shop exploring. My eyes always were inclined towards the more simple bands. There were no such things as wedding rings in my village, and although I could see Mr. Platt's wisdom, I wondered what it might say that Miss Platt needed to wear a symbol that she was promised to me. Certainly modern convention said that women were property, not that different than children or slaves, when that was in vogue.

I had never wanted to own another human being or even possess a woman. The idea revolted me, and oddly when my mind considered this aspect of the era a brief image of a servant in my father's house would flash before me. Even though I had yet to discern the meaning of the image, what I did remember clearly was that it had been my dream to find a lady from our village with whom I would partner with in life. Especially human living contained many details that were better shared. Truly, it was a shame that wives were less valuable to society in this era than my own. My thoughts made the rings look like shackles the more I looked at them and became repulsive. I hoped Miss Platt did not see it the same way, as us being in agreement against her father's stipulation was bound to create unnecessary complications. My mind quickly considered the chance that us doing so could be the thing to end this journey. Feeling compelled to do so, I put my thoughts about my adventure in the post before arriving at the hospital.

My Dear Betrothed,

I went ring shopping today in the vain hope that I would too be able to converse about this object your father is requesting. I have to admit that the longer I looked at them, the darker my thoughts have become. I should tell you that many customs were very different in the village in which I grew up. I often find myself confused with the customs that surround me, but today I found myself upset.

I believe men and women to be different, but that each was created with unique skills to which they are specifically qualified. I have observed over and over how a nurse is able to reach a patient and aid them in ways that I am not. I find the idea of owning a woman, and that the law says you will be mine to do as I please reprehensible. Nor do I agree with the limitations set around women.

I often think back to our conversation about you becoming an architect and believe you would be a great one. I hope you were right that the future women of this country would not be restrained as you have been.

These thoughts have made me realise that perhaps before we commit fully to this engagement that we should discuss our upbringing and expectations regarding the roles of husband and wife.

We have already spoken about the matter of physical contact, so I will leave that aside.

I believe that once married all significant financial matters should be jointly agreed. I intend on giving you equal access to all of my accounts and properties. If you work, which I hope you will, then we can discuss what you would like to do with your income. I had assumed that you would like to send at least some of it to your parents, but that is a conversation for another time.

I believe that the role of keeping the home orderly is for all that live in the house. I will admit to not being particularly tidy, as I tend to have books and papers scattered all over, but I will endeavour to accommodate your needs in these matters once we are settled. In my house growing up both my father and I cooked, although I will admit to not having used a kitchen in a great many years now.

More than anything, I want you to feel free to be yourself, to discover what delights you, and to use our home as a springboard into whatever you wish to do next.

There is plenty more to say on this topic, but I will leave it here for now.

Sincerely yours,

Carlisle

Oddly enough sending the letter did calm my nerves and I was more even-keel until we next spoke on Saturday when calling her. Distressingly, she sounded defeated.

"What is wrong?" I asked concerned.

"I do not like rings," she grumbled.

"You do not?" I enquired bemused.

"No," she insisted. "They are all too gaudy or ostentatious. I know you could buy me anything, but if I am going to wear it daily, then I want something that I can wear while I tie shoelaces and paint." She sounded frustrated.

"Then I will find something that fits that criteria," I assured her. Gratefulness entered me for my perusing of the rings, as it gave me the awareness to enquire, "Did you like ones that had etchings or stones in them?"

"Sometimes," she replied after some thought.

"Sometimes?" I questioned allowing my confusion to be apparent in my tone.

"The etching or stone in itself was not the deciding factor for me," she clarified sounding like she was searching for words to explain. "In truth it depended. There were just too many that irritated me."

Unable to hold myself in, I chuckled. "I had a similar experience."

"You did?" she asked surprised.

"Yes," I confirmed. "Only it caused me so much grief that I wrote you a letter about it."

She giggled. "I cannot wait to receive it."

"I talked to my supervisor. I can take some time off, but not for a few months as I only started this position recently," I informed her disappointed that his answer meant that she would be crestfallen.

"Before graduation?" she verified sounding dispirited.

"Doubtful as that is only a little more than a month away now," I regretfully informed her.

"I understand," she said with the smallest amount of sadness in her tone. "Just mail it to me and I will make due with letters and calls, especially if you take it upon yourself to pen your daily thoughts like that."

"We just have to be careful," I warned her.

"Ah, yes. Yes, Dr. Cullen. I will be mindful." There was a mix of teasing with a sincere promise.

"Thank you," I told her.

"Your trust in me wasn't unfounded. Please do not worry," she reassured me.

"Could I ask another favour?" I enquired.

"You may ask," she told me repeating back to me words I had told her.

"Would you pen to me your sentiments regarding graduation?" I requested.

"Graduation?" she asked sounding confused.

"Yes please," I petitioned.

"In that case, yes. I will do this favour for you," she vowed.

"Thank you." After a pause I added, "Anything else?"

"I still need assistance with work applications," she informed me, "but otherwise no, nothing else."

"I have sent all my wisdom and recommendations in a separate letter than the one about rings," I appraised her.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"You are sincerely welcome," I replied wholeheartedly. "If there is nothing more, then I will look forward to your correspondence."

"And I yours," she agreed.

The fact that we agreed at our displeasure regarding an engagement ring, while also agreeing to do so for her father's sake struck me as ironic. Once more she demonstrated her commitment towards me. Her doing so were no less staggering this time, as it had been the times before. My mind was in disbelief at how easily we were navigating such complicated matters. It almost seemed like a sign that we were well suited. That idea left me stunned. Certainly, it had been made clear in our correspondence our agreement in many political and philosophical matters, but that was little indication of our ability to navigate these complex issues. It was one more thing that my mind puzzled over with no clear answer.

Keeping my promise to Miss Platt, after each shift I went looking at rings, but found nothing I thought would be suitable. Oddly, the fact that we were in solidarity on this issue made the experience much more bearable than it had been before. After calling on every jeweller in the city I began venturing out of Buffalo exploring shops in surrounding towns. It was 18 days later visiting a small town on the lake called Fair Haven when I found something that would do. When I held it there were none of the disgruntled feelings, which spoke volumes. It had some of the knotworks that once adorned the woodwork in my father's church etched in it. It was a plain band, but beautiful with the intricate design with a few very small stones. Pleased with my find I purchased it and asked the jeweller to put Esme and Carlisle within the band. Once he placed it in my hand, the feeling that enveloped me refused to allow me to send it to her. My next day off was in three days. I would go then.

When the day arrived to travel to her, I put on a suit, but one that I did not mind getting minor damage. Finishing my shift naught an hour before dawn, I ran as fast as possible towards Miss Platt with the ring in my pocket and my shoes and socks in my hand. As the sun began to rise, I slowed my approach to be more aware of possible humans nearby, but kept running. By the time I was on the outskirts of town the sun indicated that businesses would begin to open, and thus more people would be out and about. Fortunately the sun was hidden behind a heavy cloud cover. Putting on my socks and shoes, I strolled out of the woods and towards her college.

"Are you expected?" the guard asked me upon my arrival.

"No, sir, I am not, but I have a ring burning in my pocket," I told him while grinning ear to ear.

"Let me see what I can do," he told me appearing disgruntled, but his tone was indulgent.

It took some persuasion on his part, but at midday Miss Platt strolled towards me surprisingly without Miss Griffin.

"What Mr. White can I do for you today?" she asked the guard.

"I have a young man insistent on seeing you," he told her before I could come around the corner.

"Dr. Cullen," she squealed before she came running towards me.

I braced myself calculating the response to give her in order to cushion her impact.

"Oh, it is so good to see you," she told me sincerely jumping at me while wrapping her arms around my neck.

Once it was clear that she was not hurt by her actions, I took a step back, and she let me go immediately.

Her face looked embarrassed at her public display and like she was admonishing herself.

"None of that Miss Platt, as I expect my sentiments are as exuberant as your display," I playfully chided her smiling some at her, unable to completely contain my pleasure at her unforeseen expression.

"Yes, my dear Doctor," she replied smiling her cheeks still displaying her discomfiture.

"Plainly put I found you a ring. Once it was in my hand, the idea of posting it was repulsive. My exuberance has sent me to you without an invitation. I hope that is not offensive to you and that you like it," I told her without preamble.

She looked at me in a way I had never seen before.

Unsure of what her expression communicated I simply handed the box to her.

She took it from me carefully beginning to appear in disbelief. Tentatively, she opened it and when she did her mouth dropped open. "This is perfect," she whispered.

"Oh good," I sighed in relief.

Mr. White chuckled softly.

She looked up from the ring to me. "Can you stay?"

"No, I have work tomorrow night and a great many things to accomplish," I told her regretfully.

"I understand," she said although she looked disappointed. "I am on my lunch break and have about an hour. Will that be acceptable?"

"Yes," I told her. It was an easy compromise.

We went and sat down in line of sight to Mr. White.

"I was in the process of responding to your experience with ring shopping," she began.

"I cannot wait to read it," I told her with a full grin attempting to emerge.

Each time my mouth wanted to smile fully I worried that showing my teeth would frighten her and more dire that it might give her clues to my nature. However, sitting her with her, it took great effort, as she so easily disarmed me and caused me to forget the differences between us.

A few moments passed and then she asked, "Would you tell me more about where you grew up?"

"Sure," I agreed and then pulled up as many of my human memories as I could. "My mother died giving birth to me. My father was the fifth son of a nobleman and my mother from some little known old money family. It was just my father and I growing up, not including the stable hands and maids. Because my father was a nobleman by birth and therefore so was I, reading and arithmetic was required. There was no schoolhouse in my village, so my father paid a young noblewoman to tutor me. If I was not doing schoolwork, I was doing my chores, or something else for my father. The idea of free time was not in my upbringing.

"He groomed me to take over his place in the pulpit, but it was not for me. He was a very charismatic man who enjoyed the place of power he held and used it to root out evil in the world. I wanted to be anything but what he was forcing me to be. Circumstance gave me an out, but it required that I flee. Instead of a priest, I became a doctor."

She had closed her eyes at my telling and they remained closed.

I waited wondering what she thought of this small sliver of my history. "One day," I promised her my voice quieting, "if you wish, I will tell you a story from that time, but this is not the time or place."

She nodded in acknowledgement to my offer, but said nothing keeping her eyes closed. Eventually she spoke, "It sounds tragic, but there is something redemptive in the story. You speak it in such a way that even within the tragedy the hand of God appears present in your life."

"You are astute as always," I complimented her.

She smiled, but it was sad. "We share much in common. My parents love me and wish the best for me. At the same time the future they had carved out for me was not the one I wanted. I have tried to make them proud, even if my life does not look how they expected." Then she looked over at me calculating. "But you knew this already." There was an accusation in her tone.

"Yes, I saw much of my own past in you when we first met," I admitted.

"So, was your offer out of pity?" she sounded like she wanted to be mad, but was more curious than anything.

"No," I told her softly. "I merely wanted to give you what I was never given. To answer the next question you are sure to ask, I am not sure why you."

Her eyes twinkled, but she seemed determined to allow me to continue.

"I have met many people that are stuck in their familial obligations. I never felt the same desire to aid them as I have you," I admitted hoping doing so would not offend her. "I tried to figure it out, but have been unable to."

She smiled mischievously. "That must irritate you."

"A little yes," I told her smiling. "But it is also nice to know that there still are mysteries left in the universe."

"Are you happy with our arrangement?" she asked subdued.

"Shocked you said yes, still in disbelief, uncertain how to manage things, and generally trying not to over think it," I disclosed.

She narrowed her eyes at me.

I put up my hands in defeat. "I simply am in too much shock to state my sentiments on the matter."

"You thought I would say no?" she asked softly with sadness.

"Yes," I divulged and honestly added, "I do not have much to offer you."

"Perhaps in the most conventional of ways that is true, Dr. Cullen. Would you like to know what makes it worth it for me?" she offered.

"Please," I practically begged.

The deal was already done, but perhaps her answer would calm my inner chaos.

"You offer me freedom to be myself," she declared. "Maybe that is not much when you are a man and freedom is automatically possible, but for me that is worth more than the cost I will pay."

"Thank you for explaining," I told her hoping my tone conveyed my compassion and appreciation for her explanation. Better than most, I understood the drive for freedom. I might not know the context in which she spoke, but how many centuries had I stove for mastery over my bloodlust, so that I could be free from its demands?

"Carlisle," she asked faintly, "it is okay if the answer is no, but I am curious. Is adoption a possibility?"

My mind raced over her request. I would want to give this to her, so much. But the law was clear. If she found out the truth, I would have to kill her or change her. I had warned her of the risk indirectly. But a child? "I do not know for certain, but I suspect that might not be possible," I hedged oddly unwilling to give her a firm no. "We would have to discuss it further another time. Perhaps after we are married and you see the life I live."

"That sounds wise," she said, but she sounded sad.

"There are plenty of children in the world that need your care, Miss Platt. Even if you never bring them home, you will touch their lives, and make a difference," I told her attempting to assuage her sadness, and then realised the implication of the topic at hand and asked, "Are you sure you want to make this sacrifice? Certainly there are other men."

She smiled sadly. "Yes, that is true. But do not mistake me, Dr. Cullen, you are worth the price you are telling me I will pay, even if the answer for adoption is no. It is simply a lot to wrap my mind around."

"I understand," I told her, feeling overwhelmed myself.

She sat there for many long minutes in contemplation. When she spoke she did so hesitantly, "You expect me to change my mind."

"It would be reasonable for you to," I replied. "Like I said, I am not a good catch."

She exhaled strongly. "Yes, you are correct. It would be reasonable. And certainly there are men in the world that would permit me a bit of freedom while offering me things you cannot. But do you really think so little of me to believe that I would make a promise that I do not intend to keep?"

"The heart wants what the heart wants and no promise or intention impedes the desires of the heart," I attempted to explain my rationale.

"What does your heart want?" she asked with trepidation.

"You," I told her reverently the words falling from my lips before I could count their cost to her or to me.

She inhaled deeply. "I am aware that my commitment to you is not particularly reasonable from many other women's perspectives. I am aware of your warnings, the cost I will pay, and that this path I have chosen might even cost me my health, but even a handful of days with you would be worth it. My heart chose you when we met those years ago. No matter what has happened and who I have met, I cannot shake the desire to be with you always. My heart wants you."

By the end of her speech my mouth was agasp. I took her hands into mine attempting to remember to fidget and appear human. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"As sure as any mortal can be," she replied.

In my exhilaration I smiled widely forgetting my need to hide my teeth and told her, "In that case I will work at changing my assumptions, but know if things change for you I will bear you no ill will."

She bore no sign of fright or even discomfort from my slight when she stated emphatically, "They have not changed in four years. I doubt they will change in the next two."

Four years my mind repeated back to me. She had desired a romantic connection with me all these years? Suddenly her behaviours at sixteen looked different. I couldn't help but wonder what might cause a human to desire a relationship with me, even after years had passed. Lure seemed like an unlikely candidate regarding Miss Platt, given our distance. Unwilling to expose myself that much to her yet and remembering our public setting, I instead asked, "You decided two?"

She smiled sadly. "I really would like two Christmases with them, but my father will likely only agree to one."

My polite smile grew. "All right then. My apologies, Miss Platt. It appeared that I underestimated your sentiments."

She smiled broadly. "Apology accepted."

After a moment's silence, a question that had been burning in me came out, "What did you do about the Spring dance?"

"I was Miss Griffin's escort, danced with anyone who put their name on my card, as was required, and hopefully deterred any would be suitors with letting them know I was betrothed." At the last part her lips had curled slightly upward like it was a pleasant while also mischievous thought.

"Well, in that case, I have even one more reason to be grateful for your father's deadline," I told her partially playful and mostly serious.

The strength of my desire to have to be declared as mine in this way disturbed me some. I blamed her father for putting such an idea in my head.

With a sad smile she told me, "I have kept you longer than I had intended."

"Everything pales in comparison to you," I gushed, surprising myself at my uncharacteristic display, "but yes, we should be going."

She smiled bashfully.

"Shall I place the ring on your finger?" I enquired.

"Yes, please," she replied.

Carefully and with reverence I took the ring out of the box and slid it onto her finger.

She looked at it and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

"Are you all right?" I asked her concerned.

"My silly adolescent fantasy came true and it feels like too much," she confessed bashfully. "I do not know what I did to deserve you my dear doctor, but I could not be happier."

Her words dug deep into me and it took me a few seconds to find an appropriate reply. "I am glad. I have only ever wanted you to be happy."

"Well, you have succeeded." She squared her shoulders. "Now go. Go save your patients and send me a letter."

"Yes, ma'am," I told her as I stood and then bowed. "Your wish is my command. Expect a letter soon." Then I walked out, walked a few miles from her school, and then headed to the forest, so that I could run home.

My absolute joy changed how I ran; it was if I were flying. I made it back sooner than I thought was possible, so I headed out to hunt and marvelled at what had become of my life. Maybe becoming Abraham was not so bad after all. Jesus had said that His burden was light. Maybe this was what He had meant.

In the midst of these unprecedented experiences, a part of my mind told me that I was building a house of cards that was bound to tumble down. Last time I had tried to prove my father wrong it had ended in pain, suffering, death, and inheriting a demon along with an unimaginable life. To risk myself might be one thing, but this time I was also risking another. What kind of man did that make me? My internal answer was: one willing to give the girl a choice. Thus my joy returned and I chose to repeat what I had done after my transformation, focus on the next steps and trust that things would work out. Although that strategy worked for the most part, the niggling doubts in me never left and continued to challenge this path. These doubts often reminded me that I was no longer a newborn and knew the price both she and I were bound to pay for the choices we had made.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for sharing your thoughts. They have been a great encouragement! I look forward to hearing your thoughts regarding this chapter._


	9. Unexpected Complications

**Thanks to FranQuel and Sara K M whose reviews inspired parts of this chapter.**

 **Chapter 9: Unexpected Complications**

* * *

The next year moved faster and slower than any year prior.

Miss Platt graduated near the top of her class. The day was too sunny for me to make an appearance, but from distant trees I watched her receive her diploma. Due to my work schedule, the only logistical possibility had been to run there and back. Even at my top speed, I walked into work late slightly dishevelled and earning gossip, but it had been worth it. Never had I felt prouder. With some assistance on my part and a guidance counsellor at her school, she applied, received, and accepted a job as a teacher near her family home. As expected, she gave her father her wages. To aid in her family's well-being, while also attempting to keep from offending Mr. Platt, I purposefully made no comment to Mr. Platt of my intentions yet instructed my accountant to continue to send him the sum we had agreed upon as a monthly income to replace Miss Platt's absence. He never spoke an objections. Hopefully, they would use the additional moneys to prepare themselves financially for the future. It was not a dowry, but it also seemed like the kindest gift I could offer them considering Miss Platt would all but be removed from their life permanently, assuming she continued to agree to marry me.

She taught ages ten through fourteen and seemed, at least according to her letters, to truly enjoy it. We talked over the wire about once a month. Even though I prepared myself every call for her change of mind, she never once wavered from her decision to marry me including sticking with the date within 1917. She had been correct that her father insisted we marry absolutely no later than the summer of 1917. Although the summer was a busy time on the farm, with her teaching position, an early summer date had been set.

When my position in Buffalo approached its end, I searched more extensively than ever before. Having more than me to consider, I needed a town that would also be able to offer her work that was far enough away from her family to allow for our lack of visits, and a location that would serve my needs. Eventually a suitable placement was found in Hartford, Connecticut. It was a nightshift position, entry level, and started in September. There was another position that I liked the look of more in Chicago, but that would bring us too near to her parents and thus create complications that I needed to avoid, so I took the Hartford position. It was not a difficult decision, in fact.

At Christmas, in addition to a delightful phone call, I had received in my post a knitted scarf and handkerchiefs with my initials meticulously stitched into them. Upon our agreement, I waited till Christmas morning to open the boxes that had come in. Holding the items, this warmth that I could never remember experiencing prior envelope me. I also was hit with strange disjointed human memories of men wearing women's gifts. Consequently, these items gave me a sense of being claimed by her. Although the feelings were a bit silly, the items seemed to connect me to her in ways that were strange, but welcomed. Not to mention that they brought me incredible joy causing me to smile, especially while they were saturated with her scent. In this way I had been able to wear a part of her to work everyday. Interestingly, these items resulted in many of the nurses being increasingly professional with me and decreasing their demonstrations of interest. The ways of women were puzzling indeed, but Miss Platt's claiming of me in this way was greatly appreciated.

In exchange, I had sent the Platt family a basket of treats, including oranges and other rare fruits, and had sent Miss Platt a woman's jacket that I had seen on a mannequin.

"The gifts were absolutely lovely," she had told me on our conversation after Christmas had passed.

"It was nothing. Your gifts could not have been better," I had pronounced.

She had giggled for reasons unknown and then proceeded to tell me about the newest antics of her students.

In the beginning of the new year Miss Platt found a teaching position in Hartford at a private high school for girls. The wedding was set for late May. My position would start shortly after, and her's mid August. As soon as the school year finished, her parents would accompany her to Hartford. Additionally, a few of her schoolmates would attempt the journey, but mostly the wedding would be a small affair. I had hired a realtor to find Miss Platt a house and had him correspond with her regarding the details. It didn't take long for me to realize that arranging the details of the wedding were out of my depth. Consequently, I hired a wedding coordinator. As my stipulations had already been met, I gave Miss Platt free reign of the wedding itself.

"I am a country girl at heart, Dr. Cullen," she had reminded me when I mentioned the possibility of hiring the wedding coordinator.

"Then make it a country girl wedding here in Hartford," I had encouraged.

"In that case, I agree to the hire on the condition that the coordinator be willing to abide by my wishes," she had relented.

Ironically, it was her condition that had made it the most challenging to find someone, as many of the women I had interviewed had scoffed at the notion.

Except for deciding about wedding rings, the details of us becoming wed seemed to be wrapping up well when in mid March, not long after starting my shift and stepping away from a patient, Nurse Early, the head nurse, pulled me aside.

Speaking in soft tones and leaning into me she told me, "I just finished going through the unanswered dictations. There was one for you. Evidently prior to your shift a Miss Platt called the main switchboard asking for you. She left a message claiming that it was urgent."

"Was there anything more?" I pressed my tone firm disliking her disparaging of Miss Platt even in this slight way.

Then she stepped back as if flustered and handed me a paper.

On it was one of the secretary's writing. _It is urgent that we speak. I will be at the public booth every day at four through the eighteenth. Miss Platt_

"Thank you Nurse Early," I stated tersely before turning and returning to my job.

That night gave me an increased empathy for my colleagues who were exceptional doctors despite challenging events in their home life. Through the rest of the shift it took all my years of self-discipline to stay at the hospital and focus on my job, and then even more as I sat praying at what had become my regular bench for this city. The possibilities of what could be wrong were endless. Apart from my mind's inability to stop creating dire options, my instincts were screaming at me to run to Miss Platt and wrap her in my arms. Never before had pretending to be human so been at war with how my body and heart wanted to act. At least with bloodlust there was the knowledge that giving in was morally wrong. That was not the case here. Instead, it was about keeping appearances.

The one fact that helped me stay rooted in the mirage was that I would hear Miss Platt's voice sooner via phone than if I did run to her. Giving up on trying to do my usual routine, I went hunting to help calm myself. For some odd reason during my hunting I could not help wonder what Aro would have thought about my present state. None of my thoughts, even of Aro, really assisted in relieving the tension. Thus, it was nearly an hour prior to when Miss Platt had said she would be available when I presented myself at the public station and let the operator know the connection I needed. Unsurprisingly, Miss Platt was not available yet. Thanking the operator, I waited pretending to distract myself with a medical journal. Miss Platt must have also rushed, because it was not even half past three when the operator informed me that she had Miss Platt on the line.

"What is it, Miss Platt?" I asked as soon as it connected.

It felt as though the words had allowed my exhale for the first time since receiving her message

"My father had a bad accident," she spilled out quickly, and then took a breath. "He has lost his right arm and his right leg is in bad shape. The doctor is decent, but it is seeding season."

My whole body immediately relaxed in relief. Mentally chastising myself for feeling alleviated when she was clearly upset, I set my mind to offering her support.

"Do you need more men?" I inquired, as that seemed to be the most practical of the problems her news had conjured.

"I think not," she told me after some thought. "My cousins have offered some assistance as well as others in the community," she sighed.

At a loss of how to support her, I decided to simply ask, "What are you asking, my sweet?"

"Can you wait longer?" she requested tentatively. Then her words tumbled out swiftly, "I know you have already waited two years and I hate to ask this of you."

"I could wait a hundred more if you would still have me," I told her earnestly.

"Oh Dr. Cullen you sure know how to comfort a girl." I could hear the smile in her voice on top of her worry.

Racing through the implications of her request, I informed her, "We should send out announcements of the delay. I will speak to the minister." Hopefully, my offering to resolve these small tasks would relieve her at least a smidge. When a few minutes had passed and she still had not spoken, I added, "When you feel like things at home are settled enough for them to travel, let me know, and everything will be in order."

"How did you know this was what I needed?" she asked after some deep breaths on her part.

"Your parents are very important to you, and I know having them both there at the wedding is your desire," I informed her pleased that she interpreted my actions as a support. "We will wait till he is mended enough to travel."

"Thank you, Carlisle, from the bottom of my heart," she gushed with the sound of tears in the background. "Thank you."

Glad to of be of service, I reminded her, "I only want your happiness."

"Yes, just keep telling me that a few more times and I might remember." She sighed. "Will you still take the position?"

"Do you have any reason why I should not?" I questioned.

She paused, and then answered, "No." After another short pause she added, "I suspect things will be calmer here come October after the harvest. Hopefully we will travel then."

I smiled still even after this time at her insistence of us wedding. "October is not that far away," I reminded her hoping to sound playful.

"No it is not," she told me with a smile in her voice.

"Go, take care of your father," I instructed her. "I will hope to see you in October."

"October," she said like it was a promise.

As a result of her father's injury we spoke nearly every two weeks. From her description he was not improving, thus she had refused to pick a new wedding date while also insisting that she still wished to wed me. When the president officially declared that the country had entered the war in Europe, she seemed even more uncertain of what the future might hold. Her reaction was mirrored in many small and great ways in the lives of the humans around me.

Despite her ambivalence regarding the wedding date, She picked our home. It was on the outskirts of town as I had requested, but still within city limits and small but charming as she had requested. In May with a heavy heart, I moved my things in without her there. June I started my job.

For the first time since starting the practice of medicine I had taken a permanent position. This meant the need to manage office politics, where I had worked at avoiding them before. The chief surgeon seemed like a decent enough fellow, older and unconcerned about my skills in an entry position. My co-workers were nosy, but seemed cordial enough. Even with Esme's gifts the nursing staff was particularly more flirtatious than at other locations, perhaps because I was not temporary. Many times the first week I wished to be able to wear an engagement ring. I had not told anyone of my engagement in the chance that Miss Platt changed her mind. Even though, I was mostly certain by this time that she meant to keep her word. Unfortunately, despite my growing confidence, it was better for them not to know than for them to believe I had been left at the altar. Thus, it seemed like the best way to ensure her honour in any eventuality.

This hospital's pattern was fairly decent and I folded into their routine within the second week. Certainly one of the advantages of working in the bigger city was that there was less down time than any place I had worked at before. Of course, I had expected that a more dense population of humans would increase my workload, but I especially appreciated the distraction it brought. When not working I was attempting to get the house prepared for Miss Platt's arrival. My life had never felt so full and I had never felt so nervous about what the future might hold.

Fortunately Miss Platt's new employer had agreed to keep the position for her, and find a substitute until her arrival. She received no remuneration, but Miss Platt was agreeable to those terms.

It was mid July when she blurted out, "I'd like to design our wedding rings."

"Excuse me?" I replied confused as to her tone.

She inhaled deeply sounding like she was trying to calm herself before she spoke. "I know that we both are not overly fond of a wedding ring on top of my engagement ring, and so have been avoiding discussing it."

"True," I was forced to agree.

"Well," she hedged sounding nervous.

"Whatever it is my dear Miss Platt, I am certain we can work it through. Please speak your mind," I encouraged.

"I would like to design us matching bands," she explained her tone sounding nervous.

"You would like me to wear a band?" I asked surprised. Never had a thought entered my mind.

"Are you opposed?" she queried still sounding apprehensive.

Smiling at the image my mind had conjured I answered, "Quite the contrary. Wearing something of your making is a delightful idea."

Bashfully she elucidated, "I was thinking that if we each wore one then instead of the rings symbolizing me being your property, as you letter so eloquently objected to, we could transform it into being equally belonging to one another."

Something deep within me resonated with this idea. It was like she had taken my letter and found a way to transform my objections into something beautiful and then form it into an object.

"Would you still wear your engagement ring?" I asked even though it was a topic we had discussed before.

"This wouldn't change my plan on wearing only the wedding ring, except for special occasions. Rather it was to cement it further. I desire, especially when I am at work and you are at work, for us to be similar in this way. The designs would not be exact. Mine would be more feminine and yours more masculine, but they would be near enough for anyone to know that they are a matching pair," she expounded.

Her words were like an evening fire warming me from the inside. There was no pain like the fire of transformation, but simultaneously it seemed to alter something within me. My reactions to Miss Platt had always been odd and unexplainable, but this one seemed to take the cake. Given my reaction to her Christmas gifts, I suspected there was a connection to my human life, but the details would not come. Unsure of the feeling or even what it meant, I found myself at a loss for words.

"Dr. Cullen?" she asked sounding worried.

"It is a lovely idea, a truly magnificent and thoughtful and wonderful idea," I gushed.

The smile on her face and her being pleased was clear in her tone. "So you are in agreement of my suggestion?"

"Yes," I said certainly matching her smile. It was a good thing that I faced the inside of the box, otherwise I might have frightened someone.

After a moment she asked, "Shall I send you my drawings then?"

"Not necessary," I disagreed. "Surprise me."

"Surprise you?" she checked sounding like she was almost choking on the words.

"I trust you," was my reply.

"I hope it's not misplaced," she answered after some time.

"I am confident it is not," I retorted.

"How am I to know what you like or dislike?" she queried sounding worried.

"You liked the engagement ring I picked?" I verified.

"Very much so," she agreed.

"Then trust that would be the case the other way around. I have the utmost faith in your talent and in your ability to take my occupation and needs into account," I assured her.

Smiling once more she wondered, "Do you know how to find someone willing to make my design."

"I suspect that is more a question for the wedding coordinator than I," I told her.

"Fair enough," she agreed.

We never spoke about it again, but I trusted that she was in the process of getting what she wanted.

Everything looked to be progressing as we had last agreed until our conversation the last week of August.

"I do not think he will last till Christmas, Carlisle," she admitted. "He lacks the will to live."

Not knowing what else to say I offered to her my sympathy, "I am so sorry Esme."

"I am glad that I was here," she told me sounding distant and lost in thought

"Then I am glad you stayed," I told her sincerely.

"I would like to stay until after he passes, so that I can help my mother with the funeral," she requested.

"How is she handling things?" I wondered while also wanting to know the totality of what Miss Platt was facing.

"Not well," was her answer.

"What will she do?" I asked.

"As my father has no sons, the farm passes to his nephew," she informed me sounding sad and tired. "Certainly my cousin would allow her to continue to live in the house."

"I could buy it," I offered softly.

This was a repetitive conversation.

She always answered the same, "I appreciate the offer, but no. I want the farm to be worked and I am leaving here to live my life with you. It is better for him to have it."

"Just make sure you take everything you want. Shipping furniture is not a bother," I told her for the forty-sixth time.

She sighed. "Yes, I remember. I simply cannot think about that right now."

"I understand," I told her attempting to sound as supportive as I wanted to be. "Take as long as you need. I will still be waiting."

"Thank you, Carlisle," she stated without the force she had spoken those words prior.

"You are ever so welcome my dear Miss Platt," I stated trying to hide my worry for her and only convey my support.

The conversation made it especially hard to stay in place and not run to her. At the same time, I knew that showing my face in that community was not wise. Risking Miss Platt and trusting on her discretion was not the same as returning to a location I had recently worked with most of my patients and their families alive and well. The fact that keeping the secret limited my ability to assist her did not make my distance and restrictions any easier to handle. My inadequacies in this way and my frustration at my limitations more than once caused me to wonder if it were a sign that Miss Platt would find a human suitor.

Additionally, I did not know what to do with what these events were teaching me about Miss Platt. She was emotionally strong, which was no surprise. Neither was it surprising at how seriously she took her obligations as a daughter and what her family meant to her. But she also seemed insistent on not complaining and seeing the silver lining. It was an admirable quality, for sure, but more than once it caused me to wonder how she was doing truly. As our conversations were public, I did not expect her to speak her deepest sentiments, but being left in the dark on how she was actually handling matters was troublesome.

During our conversations in September and then October she refused to speak about him or any of the events transpiring surrounding him, and although I suggested she pen me her struggles no letter ever came. Our first conversation in November she picked up the receiver and said, "He's gone."

"My condolences, Esme. Can I do anything for you?" I enquired wanting to ease her burden in any way I could.

Her sigh was heavy, as if she were attempting to stop herself from shedding tears in public. Eventually she answered, "No, but thank you. Tell me once more about our home and the neighbourhood."

Sensing that she needed my answer, I obliged her. It was then with great surprise that a few weeks later a letter from Miss Platt graced my mailbox. It was full of the same mixed emotions I had felt upon realising that I would never see my own father again. She was relieved of the loss of the burden to please him and missing him. The fact that she was finally divulging some of her inner world on this matter to me pleased me, although it reminded me of how constrained I was to support her. The letter also requested for her to stay through the holidays for her mother's sake, which, given the weather, might mean she would not arrive until March.

When we next spoke I told her to stay with her mother until the week after Easter. She agreed. We resent out invitations and planned everything for April. That Christmas was bittersweet. She had gotten her two Christmases in her family's home after all. There was no doubt in me that she was making the right choices for her, and even though I had nothing but time on my side, there was a slight resentment at not having our first Christmas together be in 1917.

The early months of 1918 were slower than a snail.

"What is wrong, Cullen?" Dr. Konkel, a young doctor that worked the shift after me, asked one day.

My deeply ingrained habits stopped me from speaking about my private life, but before I dismissed his enquiry it dawned on me that these were also human matters and sharing them might help me appear human. My previous reasons of maintaining Miss Platt's honour seemed flimsy under his scrutiny and our set date. For the first time, I considered that perhaps someone else would understand in a part how the weight of these events seemed to be pressing into me on all sides.

Speaking hesitantly and carefully, I told him, "I was to be married in August, but my fiancé's father became ill, so we had to postpone the wedding. He passed in November and since her mother will be travelling here with her, we are waiting for the weather to be more pleasant, so they are coming in April."

"Seven months you have been waiting?" he asked surprised.

"And eighteen months before that," I told him ruefully.

His mouth dropped open. "You mean to tell me you have been engaged for over two years now?"

"Yes," I answered reluctantly unsure of how to handle his astonishment.

"Have you seen her at all?" he pressed me.

"No, not in this time," I told him shaking my head sadly. In my life it was merely a drop of time, but it had not seemed that way. "We correspond," I explained.

He whistled lowly. "You are a patient man."

"I am growing impatient, actually," I admitted.

"A watched pot and all that," he stated as a platitude. "Try not to dwell on it and the time might go by quicker."

"Yes, thank you," I replied knowing that my mind could not let her go, even if it was just there in the background.

Even though his words had been little more than empty platitudes speaking to him had lightened my burden some. Somehow without my notice she had, through our conversations these past months, undone my resistance to believe fully that we were to be wed until we exchanged our "I dos." It was a revelation worthy of exultation, while also made me uncomfortably aware of how much I wanted her to become my wife. Unwilling to consider my reaction if she were to waiver or withdraw, I resolved myself to believe in the priest's promise that faith was stepping into the unknown, to trust her, and to acknowledge in the unknown workings of the Almighty.

To my disappointment within a few days the whispers of my love life was making the rounds. It irritated me that he had not kept this information to himself, but it did create a positive backlash. The female staff decreased their attempts to flirt with me, except those who were loose women. The other positive outcome was that my direct supervisor decided that I deserved some time off around the dates of the wedding. Unfortunately, he also wanted an invitation. When I next spoke to Miss Platt, she said that it was fine with her.

My impatience the last week that she was to arrive meant that I ran a lot and hunted more than was truly needed. On April 4th, 1918 my future wife finally arrived. The train was delayed, as seemed to be the regular way with the trains, so by the time it pulled up the sun was close to setting. It would not have mattered, as it had been a cloudy day. Nevertheless, I hoped it aided in my attempt to appear the age Mrs. Platt would be expecting, as any assistance would be appreciated. When my eyes caught Miss Platt stepping out of the train I moved towards her reminding myself over and over to appear human. Once her eyes clasped on me, she began running towards me.

"Esme Platt," her mother could be heard scolding her, but that only seemed to increase her gait.

When she was an arms length from me she threw herself at me, but then once in my arms quickly withdrew realising that we were in public. The moment we touched all anxiety left me. She grounded me, and the restlessness that had dwelt within me dissipated.

I chuckled at her enthusiasm and placed my palms on her cheeks. "It is good to see you also, Miss Platt."

"It is good to be seen, Dr. Cullen," she said with such strong sentiment that I was certain she would begin crying.

Gently, I indicated to her that she should stand beside me and placed her arm within mine, so that we looked more dignified.

"I see that you are wearing my handkerchief," she commented clearly pleased.

"I wear at least one of the items you gave to me every day I enter town," I told her.

She seemed to smile pleased at my response.

As Mrs. Platt came near, she attempted to scoff at our public display, but the edges of her mouth kept twitching.

"Mrs. Platt, it is a pleasure to see you again," I told her once she was near enough to hear me.

Miss Platt's hand moved to my arm and she pressed her hand into my coat.

"Dr. Cullen," Mrs. Platt greeted me with a slight nod. She scrutinised me and I hoped that the extra lengths I had gone to in order to appear older would work. "You are looking well."

"Thank you," I replied, and then smiled warmly hoping to disarm her. "I am fortunate to have inherited the capacity to maintain my youthful appearance despite the hours the hospital works me. The other doctors tease me about it, but warn me that it will not last."

"Well, we cannot all be as fortunate as you, Dr. Cullen," she replied after a moment's pause.

"Thank goodness, since there is only one Miss Esme Platt and I am honoured she has agreed to become my wife," I told her sincerely only realizing the depth of the sentiment once the words had been uttered.

Mrs. Platt smiled and for a moment the wear of the last year was not apparent.

"I have booked you both into a hotel near the church," I informed Mrs. Platt. "The dress will arrive tomorrow and they will make any small adjustments at that time. I will arrive tomorrow evening to take you both out to dinner, and then will see you at the church on Saturday."

"Thank you for arranging everything, Dr. Cullen," she responded cordially.

"You are more than welcome, anything for my Miss Platt," I replied. After a poignant pause I continued, "Come. Let us collect the luggage. You shipped everything to the house that is not here?" I turned and asked Miss Platt.

"Yes," she grumbled.

I looked at her trying to draw out of her what caused such exasperation.

"Later" she mouthed at me.

Letting the matter go, we collected the bags and hired a carriage. The ride to the hotel was amicable, but when the driver pulled up Miss Platt began to protest. "Dr. Cullen," she scolded. "What did you do?"

"Booked a room," I responded attempting to sound innocent.

"I explicitly told you–"

"–And I ignored your request," I interrupted. "Please, dear, it is only a few nights before we go and live in the modest home you picked. I simply wanted to spoil you a little. It is a long journey after all."

"What will I do with you?" she grumbled.

"Marry me?" I teased.

"Fine," she consented. "But, please, Carlisle, I do not need this."

I looked down and quieted my voice. "I know. There is a disease impacting a few places throughout the country and, although it is not in Hartford yet, this hotel is close to the hospital and is known for being especially clean. Truly, I was not intending to disregard your wishes. I was merely being precautious. I cannot bear to see you ill."

"All right," she relented, "but please, Carlisle. There are better things to spend money on."

I disagreed, but said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye Mrs. Platt was desperately attempting not to laugh out right at us.

We disembarked, I paid for the room, gave the concierge explicit instructions, and went no further than the hall. Mrs. Platt entered the room giving us the pretence of privacy.

"Were you serious all those years ago when you said you wanted an equal?" Miss Platt asked.

"Yes," I told her earnestly.

"Then please respect my wishes or at least explain beforehand," she requested earnestly.

"My dear, if I did that all the time, then I would ruin the capacity to surprise you and treat you," I pointed out like we were arguing some political point.

She looked at me crossways. "This wedding and all that you are spending on me, will it greatly affect you financially?" she asked barely above a whisper.

"No, in fact I could purchase this hotel outright and still have money to spare," I told her seriously. "These are things between a husband and a wife. Please, Miss Platt, trust me and be patient."

She nodded. "I only worry that you would do too much."

I smiled at her. "You have no reason to worry."

"In that case, I thank you for taking care of me and my mother, as well as being honest," she stated politely, and then seemed unable to add, "even if I was out of line."

"Forgiven," I told her.

She paused and had a contemplative look. "I have a question," she said after a few moments.

"Please," I encouraged her.

"Were you planning on kissing me in the church?" she asked appearing bashful.

"On the cheek," I told her.

She nodded. "I think that would be better for my mother. She does not agree with us being affectionate in public."

"Yes, I can tell." I smiled at her while watching her release tension from her shoulders. "Rest, please my dear. I will call upon you tomorrow at four o'clock so that we might have an early dinner. The attire is formal."

"Understood," she agreed. "I will make sure that our apparel are appropriate and that we are ready by four o'clock."

"Thank you," I told her.

"You are welcome."

"Good evening. Sleep well," I offered.

"You also," she stated softly with longing in her tone.

Turning and walking down the hall, her eyes followed me. When I turned the corner, she let out a sigh and gently closed the door. Perhaps a walk after dinner would allow me the opportunity to ascertain what was wrong with Miss Platt.

I spent my hours that night and the next day confirming the last details for the wedding. Hopefully it would met Miss Platt's bequests. Against some of my impulses, the hotel was the only thing that had deviated from her requests.

At four o'clock I sat in the hotel lobby in my tops and tails waiting. It was risky to wear such attire around Mrs. Platt as women generally seemed to swoon more than usual when I dressed formally, but my desire to demonstrate conclusively to Mrs. Platt that I would take good care of her daughter had trumped.

When Miss Platt stepped out of the elevator she was a sight to behold. I had always thought her beautiful, but she was exquisite in her attire. It seemed that she caused quite the stir, as many a men stopped to glance at her while she moved towards me. I had to stifle a growl as a few of the men became aroused at the sight of her.

When Mrs. Platt approached me she looked unsure, but extended her hand nonetheless. I kissed her glove. "You looked radiant, Mrs. Platt."

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen."

Then Miss Platt stepped towards me holding out her hand. I took it reverently and pressed my lips to her glove longer than propriety dictated. "You are simply a sight to behold, Miss Platt. I dare say you have managed to make every single eligible bachelor envious."

She smiled slyly, but said nothing.

"However did you keep them at bay these years?" I asked Mrs. Platt as I extended my arm to Miss Platt.

"My daughter has had eyes for none but you," she answered.

Looking over at Miss Platt, she was appearing bashful.

"Perhaps on our journey to dinner you can tell me how you managed to convince Mr. Platt that I might court your daughter?" I encouraged Mrs. Platt.

Mrs. Platt's eyes flashed between surprise and mischievousness.

Miss Platt looked between us certain she was missing something.

The coach arrived and once we climbed in I begged Mrs. Platt, "Please, do regale us with the telling."

"Yes, Mother," Miss Platt added stretching out mother.

"When your letter arrived the look on Mr. Platt's face was nothing but scorn. He never did believe you good enough for our Miss Platt, but then again no man will ever be good enough for a father." She took a breath as if attempting to sequester her grief. "I told him that I would support his decision and temper Miss Platt's wrath on his denial if he could explain to me his rationale. He had some good points and a few flimsy ones.

"The most salient points were that you lived far away and we would never see our daughter again, that you lived a lifestyle unbecoming a married man, that you had no kin to claim you, and thus we had no way to judge the content of your character. I agreed that we would most likely lose our daughter, but that would be true of most men she was likely to marry. I also had to agree that you lived a lifestyle unbecoming a married man, but pointed out that was true of most single men, and that once married would change to suit. He was right about your kin, God rest his soul, but I suggested that perhaps that was not a good enough reason to keep our daughter from true happiness if she wanted you. And I suggested to him that the fact that you asked for permission to court our Esme, as well as how you had behaved towards our family up to that point, perhaps said something about your character." She paused in thought. "I do believe that he hinted at you paying him to marry her?"

"Yes, he did," I concurred, even though I was loathed to speak of such matters in front of Miss Platt.

Miss Platt's mouth dropped open. "How much did he want?"

"He never said, but after you had agreed to a courtship I penned him explaining to him that I could not in good conscious pay him for the honour of your hand," I told her earnestly.

"You did?" she asked me, and then looked at her mother sternly.

"Honestly, that letter was what clenched the deal for Mr. Platt. He decided that any man who would put his morals before all else, even a woman, was fine by him," Mrs. Platt told us.

"Really?" I asked surprised. Never would have I imagined that would have been his response.

Mrs. Platt simply nodded with a slight smile on her face.

Feeling Miss Platt's gaze upon me, I turned to her and explained, "Your father was a keen businessman, and I believe he was testing me to see how far I would go. Anything was worth it, despite my trepidation."

She smiled, although she still looked upset. "You were scared?"

"Yes," I disclosed.

"And now?" she pressed.

"Less so, but my fear of losing you has increased while my fear of you saying no has decreased."

She chuckled. "Still afraid then?"

"I doubt it would ever completely leave me," I confessed.

Mrs. Platt shook her head. "You too are a good pair. I hope you will always treat her well."

"Till her last breath," I promised.

As a change of subject, I started pointing out landmarks and points of interest. Soon enough we arrived at the restaurant. The hostess greeted us and took us to our seats. The meal was pleasant. Mrs. Platt and Miss Platt seemed to enjoy themselves. The rare steak that I had ordered sat heavy in my stomach, but it had been worth it. Mrs. Platt asked lots of questions about my new position and the life I intended for us here in Hartford. It was a challenge to stay on the side of truth. Miraculously, as if sensing my struggle, each time I hesitated Miss Platt would interject and say just the right thing to soothe her mother.

When we finished I wanted to take a walk, but Mrs. Platt's vitals were sluggish. I moved a little closer to her and inhaled her scent discreetly. Miss Platt's assessment those months ago that Mrs. Platt was not doing well health wise seemed accurate. So, instead I suggested a ride and returning to the hotel. Mrs. Platt agreed easily. It was getting close to nine at night when we returned to their accommodations.

"I will see you tomorrow at the church," I told Miss Platt in the hotel lobby.

"Do not be late," she commanded.

"I will not. You do the same?" I begged.

"Certainly," she told me as if I were being silly to ask.

"Good." Pausing, I looked at her closely. "Are you sure, Esme?" I asked using the familiar name she had requested to press my point, "that this is what you want? Last chance."

"Yes," she replied without thought. "I have never been more sure."

"In that case I will leave you be," I uttered surprised at the fervency of her tone. "Good night."

"Good night Dr. Cullen," she replied but appearing like she did not want our time to end.

I watched her and Mrs. Platt get into the elevator. "He really cares for you, Esme," Mrs. Platt stated assuredly. "He is an odd one, but his care is genuine enough."

"And he has been honest with me," she stated like she was defending me. "Truthfully, his oddities are understandable."

"He told you?" Mrs. Platt asked shocked. "Would a man not wait till after he has married you?"

"Dr. Cullen is not like that, mother," Miss Platt told her. "He trusts me and he said that being with him comes with costs. He did not want me to marry him, unless I knew what I was getting into."

"And those are?" Mrs. Platt asked.

"For one, I will probably never see you again," Miss Platt stated sounding slightly sad and resigned.

"I expected as much," she said her tone sad and heavy.

"And another, he is unable to bear children," she informed her mother, oddly with a similar tone that I had used when telling Mr. Platt.

"How can you be so certain?" Mrs. Platt pressed.

"He said he was ill many years ago and this sickness caused infertility," Miss Platt answered.

"Did you ask what sickness he acquired?" she questioned.

"No, I would not ask such a thing," Miss Platt retorted with a slight reprimand in her tone.

"But, Esme, he could still–"

"It is worth it," she interrupted insisting without doubt.

"You are sure?" Mrs. Platt pressed.

"You know he just asked me the same thing?" Miss Platt retorted.

"He did?" Mrs. Platt asked surprised.

"Yes, he said this was my last chance to back out. And he would never hold it against me if I did, but I cannot; I will not. He is what I want and I will pay the price necessary to be with him."

"As long as you are sure," Mrs. Platt relented.

"Were you sure when you married Father?" Miss Platt asked.

"No," Mrs. Platt answered reluctantly, "but it turned out to be a good match."

"There you go," Miss Platt stated as if it ended the conversation.

At this point I decided that using my hearing to spy on them had gone far enough. Leaving the hotel, I changed clothes and went on a hunt expelling dinner along my way, and attempted to distract myself from my doubts that I was doing the right thing.

I delayed my return to the house as much as possible, given my nerves. Instead my feet took me meandering through the city while a part of me categorized everything, as if a part of me was creating a response to every human in the city and any human behaviour. The whole thing was ridiculous, but I seemed unable to help myself.

Despite my odd ways of handling my nervousness, there was an evenness in my temperament which had been exhibited as a combination of the assurance her presence had given me and seeing the reality of my faith becoming reality. My insistence to myself that she would change her mind was no longer the case, and in a few short hours there would be no wishing and no uncertainty. This was the last chance to back out.

Every time I tried to even imagine what our life together might look like, I could picture nothing other than sitting reading together and discussing topics as we had done. Her correspondence had encouraged me that we would figure it out together. Would it be like the rings she was designing? She would be the alchemist, and then I would join in whatever inconceivable possibility she created? It was what had brought us to this space. However, what would that mean when in a few short hours I would vow to be her husband? We had agreed that it did not mean she was my property and that we were equally bound to one another. Was that enough?

Even though no answers were found, when it could practically be put off no longer I went home, washed, and dressed for the wedding, and headed over to the church. The wedding planner had done a wonderful job of decorating the sanctuary and all seemed to be in order, giving me nothing to do but stand around. The cost of the wedding had increased significantly due to procuring many of the items due to rationing, but each time the wedding coordinator had asked, I had told her to get what Miss Platt requested irrelevant of cost and only mention an alternative if what she wanted was unobtainable.

Eventually, probably to aid in calming my nerves, the priest came towards me.

"You still requesting the alteration in the vows so that you also receive a ring?" he verified standing next to me.

"Yes," I confirmed.

He looked as dubious about it as the first time I had made the request.

Wanting to ease whatever was troubling him, I told him, "As a doctor I often have women, nurses and patients, flirt with me. This is my unconventional way of trying to inform them without words and thus possible upset that I am a married man."

Mulling that over he stated, "The world is changing if women are throwing themselves at a man."

"They are changing," I agreed.

"Well, even if the alterations are odd, I admire your reasoning." Then after a minute he asked, "How are you holding up?"

"Well, thank you, sir," I told him.

"Nervous?" he wondered.

"Slightly," I confessed, although I was much more nervous about what lay ahead of us and how to manage a marriage with a human female, than I was about the ceremony.

"Have you made all the arrangements for the wedding consummation?" he asked after a moment's pause. He probably assumed this was the source of my nervousness.

Yes," I told him, even though that had entailed getting her room ready.

"It is too bad your family cannot make it," he commented off-handedly.

"Yes, I would hope that my father would be pleased with my choice of bride nonetheless," I told him earnestly.

"Would he have any reason to doubt?" he asked turning towards me.

"My father is a man of the cloth. His ideas of a good wife differ from mine," I explained.

The priest nodded sagely. "Is she of good heart?"

"Without a doubt," I replied easily.

"Does she respect you?" he questioned.

"Most of the time," I admitted with an indulgent pleased smile.

"Does she cherish you?" he wondered.

"She is marrying me despite me trying to convince her otherwise," I said light heartedly.

"Her family approves of you?" he pressed.

"Yes," I told him.

"What more is there?" he asked gently.

"Yes, indeed," I answered taken back by the simple nature in how he saw things.

He patted me on the shoulder twice. "It will be alright. In the end what matters is how we stand in front of God, not man." And with that he turned and walked away.

Was this truly God's plan for my life? It was hard to say for sure, but certainly in the way that events had unfolded it had seemed that way. Except from keeping my distance from Miss Platt, I had done nearly everything possible in order to be told no, and yet here we stood. I tried to imagine what my life would look like if the last years had not transpired. I would most likely have gone to Chicago working long hours tending to the sick, and, when I could, enjoying the library the city had. But it would have been as lonely as the decades prior.

The last two years had felt longer at times than the last two centuries, but standing here today about to be married it all seemed like there was a greater hand at work. I had to hope and have faith the same would be true of the years ahead of us. At least that was what I kept telling myself every time my mind wanted to venture into what ifs and possible problems. Like my thoughts this morning, there was no true answer. Instead, I forced myself to repeat the pattern of the past century: I focused on the present and left the future up to God.

"It is time Dr. Cullen," the wedding planner told me pulling me out of my musings.

"Certainly," I responded and took my place.

Undoubtedly my upcoming vows were the greatest step of faith I had ever taken, and was, therefore, completely uncomfortable with the uncertainty, but joyful without ending that she would become a daily part of my life. If nothing else, I had thus learned that living life since meeting Miss Platt was nerve-racking and entirely rewarding. Consequently, it seemed the righteous thing to send up a prayer of thanks to the Almighty for the gift I was about to receive, and fervently hope that I had not led us both to folly.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you once more Sara K M and FranQuel for their feedback. I believe it led to a richer chapter. For those of you who read my previous story A Little More Heart, you will see that I kept my imagined backstory on Esme's family. Hopefully that didn't spoil anything for you._

 _I look forward to hearing your thoughts about how the story is progressing._


	10. Unfathomable

**Chapter 10: Unfathomable  
**

* * *

The music played and Miss Platt stepped into the chapel. As expected, she was exquisite.

When she took her first step towards me everything else faded into the background. Even given the capacities my nature offered me, it was like my being was incapable of digesting the reality of the situation. I, Carlisle Cullen, vampire and doctor to humans was becoming a husband to a human with all the responsibilities that entailed. For the first time in my life, as a human or as a vampire, I was voluntarily taking on being responsible for someone else's welfare and happiness. In a few more steps Miss Platt would reach me and my responsibility for her would increase greatly from benefactor or even a patient in my temporary medical care. Even though my husbandry responsibilities did not include carnal acts and I had carefully calculated how to appear human while we entered this new arrangement, there was a tangible and powerful upheaval within me. She was trusting me with her life: her present, her future, her emotions, her basic needs, all of it. It was overwhelming. For centuries I had been a bachelor. It was a role that I was comfortable with.

The feeling of trepidation regarding the unknown caused my mind to start from the first moment we had met. Rationally, us becoming wed was supposed to be impossible. No logic could have gotten me to this reality. If my rational mind could not conceive of what was right in front of my face, how much more would I face without preparation? Regrettably, it seemed like my staying in the moment all these months had not prepared me for the weight of what we were about to do. As she continued to step towards me, it began to dawn on me that irrelevant of how much preparation made, there were things that I could not make provisions for. Suddenly I was fearful on how the future could even be managed. How can arrangements be made for things that were inconceivable? I could have never known to expect the temendous weight of duty, as the experience was new and there was no older wiser vampire to counsel me. Never had I missed Aro and his years of experience more. At the same, I could only imagine him shaking his head, explaining the folly of my decision, and how unnatural I was behaving.

As if lacking the capacity to feel and internalize the moments, I said my 'I do's when requested with a odd mix of exultation and shocked detachment. We exchanged rings, as expected, and I was immensely impressed with what she had created. It was masculine, strong, and yet seemed full of love. When she placed it on my finger it was as if everything within me became bent to her happiness and well-being. It was a powerful experience, as if my very cells were euphoric in being bound to her. Without doubt the feelings she had conjured within me would not have happened without her, once more, creating a third way.

The faith that priest had spoken about seemed to be more and more how I lived my life. He should have warned me, though, of the fear that would be present. Vir Fidem had been my father's call. Was I answering it? Chasing and removing true evil, not just acquiring accusations, had been my first attempt to reaching his standards, while also keeping to my own conscience. In a way, marrying Miss Platt was my second attempt. It could be fairly assured that in the history of vampires, I was the first to take a human wife with the intention for us to live a human life together. At the same time, I was the first human doctor. Those first decades of becoming a doctor had been filled with trepidation and unknown. True there had been close calls related to my bloodlust and errors in treatment, but I had learned from those experiences and figured it out. Perhaps, then, becoming a doctor had been my second attempt and this was my third. That detail was irrelevant in light of the assurance it gave me. If I could become a doctor, then with trust in Miss Platt and faith in the Almighty I would have to rest assured that it would work out. Time would only tell if this choice would truly offer me the title of Vir Fidem that my father refused to bestow upon me.

I would replay what the priest said to us at a later time, as my emotional reactions had overshadowed my ability to hear his words properly. Going to kiss her cheek to seal our union as husband and wife, the resounding insistent thought was that I was blessed beyond measure. The verse that Our Heavenly Father gave good gifts had never felt truer. After the ceremony, we signed the wedding book, and stood around conversing before the wedding planner encouraged us towards the reception.

As planned we all went to the parish hall that had been transformed into a beautiful evening restaurant with white lights and candles. As the wedding attendees had been so small, it had been arranged so that we all sat at a long rectangular table. The food was served seamlessly and everyone made noises of appreciation. Few seemed to notice what little I consumed and those that did said nothing. Hopefully they chalked it up to my excitement and anticipation, although swallowing some food had been necessary.

After the meal a small band played live music. Our first dance as man and wife was a formal waltz. Afterwards, there were group dances and everyone took at least one turn on the dance floor. Upon the next couple number I requested Mrs. Platt to danced with me.

Near the beginning of the dance she practically begged me, "Take care of my little girl."

"I will guard and keep her to the utmost of my ability," I swore to her.

"How will you protect her from the rumours and scorn your limitations will bring?" she asked quietly her tone grieved.

"By giving her everything else she might need or want," I replied knowing this would not be enough, but having no other answer.

She clucked and frowning told me, "It is dreadfully unfair, but true or not, they always blame the woman for these things."

Saddened by this truth I agreed and then added, "Perhaps we will adopt and then move."

"You have spoken about this?" Mrs. Platt asked sounding relieved.

"It was your daughter's idea." Even if I could not conceive of how we would make it work, Miss Platt conjured things, so I offered to Mrs. Platt, "We have yet to properly discuss it, but it is something to consider."

She was quiet then until the dance was almost halfway through when she whispered, "Esme was not my first child. Shortly after her father and I were wed we had a son. After him I lost a few before they came into the world and a few more in the first months of their lives. We were certain we would never have children again, but then there was Esme. The doctor told me I was really too old to be pregnant once more. There were warnings that I might not survive at my age, but after so much loss we had to believe the pregnancy was meant to be. Then when she was born she seemed to be going the same way as her siblings. However, Esme has always been a fighter. It had been that fight that has kept her here on earth when she was small and sickly. Each time we were certain she would suffer the same fate she would prove us wrong. It has also made her headstrong, stubborn, and determined to live life her way."

Unsure of how to console her or if it would even be welcomed, I told her, "Well, that certainly explains a lot. Fortunately, those qualities are some of the parts of her that I adore."

She smiled slightly while telling me, "Yes, I can see that. You are good for her. A lesser man would want to beat submission into her. You gain her agreement through reason. You will offer her a good future. And hopefully her nature will protect her from any ridicule she is bound to encounter." Her tone was contemplative and sad like she was expressing a desire to save Miss Platt from the pain she had suffered. Then she tensed some before speaking, "But I am afraid that these qualities you admire in her might cause you moments of embarrassment." I went to refute, but she continued on, "It is a husband's right to tame his wife as he sees fit, but I would ask you to use your reason on her, even in those moments."

Frowning at her implication, I could find nothing to say as her entire implication of how I would treat her daughter bothered me. Eventually, needing to respond, I stated, "Of course."

Sighing like she was greatly relieved, much of the tension her body had been holding released.

Wanting to change the subject and curious, I asked, "And your son?"

"Was killed by savages who had attacked our lands," she stated coldly her hatred and anger clear.

"Before Esme was born?" I wondered.

"No," she answered softly. "But she was very little. He had a girl to whom he gained the father's permission to court and had been working to show himself capable of taking care of her. Mr. Platt regretted a great many things in how he handled his son, but none more than how Geoffrey died. My husband was a proud man, but knew how to learn from his mistakes. Esme's wilfulness might be in part from that as well."

"That is a good quality," I stated lost at how to handle this news.

When the music ended she curtsied slightly and acted like the conversation had never happened. It seemed like her words were meant to be a warning and a request, but they had been so full of the reality of human life–it was regularly brief. Her words created a dread within me of how limited my time with my new wife might be. There were simply a plethora of things that could easily shorten the limited time we already had. But as I did not want to risk killing her, my only option was to hope we had many years together and enjoy the moments they contained.

Much like at the hospital events, I managed to limit my time on the dance floor. However, unlike the past I used Miss Platt as my excuse to not dance with anyone during the remaining couple's dances. Interestingly, Mrs. Platt declined every offer after our one dance irrelevant of who asked claiming being too old. Nevertheless, having Miss Platt as my reason for limiting myself in dancing saved me tremendously. It was a small, but appreciated benefit. It had yet to occur to me how Miss Platt's presence as my wife might be an aid in hiding my secret from the world at large. Simultaneously, even though keeping it from her was still something yet to be completely sorted, I chose to believe that any unknowns could be handled.

A few friends from Miss Platt's school who had managed to attend at times lingered at her side wishing to enjoy her company. Knowing her time with them was fleeting, I made myself scarce, most often taking myself outside and sharing a cigar with the men as they congratulated me. Those who had known Miss Platt when she had been at college asked about our plans while they boasted about their exploits, hopes, and dreams.

"You're a lucky sod," Mr. Bradly commented his tone impressed with a touch of petulance.

"I am," I agreed feeling on edge with how he spoke.

"She never did have eyes for much else other than her studies," Mr. Swift added, as if attempting to temper Mr. Bradly.

"True," Mr. Bradly agreed. After a moment's pause he asked, "How did you meet again?"

It seemed like he was trying to call me out or something, which seemed ridiculous, as this was the wedding day.

Searching for what to say, I eventually told him, "I was her doctor when she was sixteen."

"Maybe it wasn't her studies she was holding out for," Mr. Lewis teased jutting his elbow into Mr. Bradly.

Mr. Bradly let it go, and then began boasting about his work on building railroads.

Fortunately, the topic was never touched again, but it was easy to see that my suspicion that others had pursued Miss Platt was confirmed. How she had chosen me over these men was incomprehensible to me, but today had proven in little and large ways how little I knew and understood when it came to her.

Many of the conversations Miss Platt had with her friends were similar to the men's. They were simply catching up with one another's lives. The exception was Mrs. Baker nee Griffin.

"How are you really?" Mrs. Baker asked Miss Platt in soft tones that would have likely not carried to others.

"Turbulent," was her answer. There must have been some nonverbal communication, because the next thing was Miss Platt sighing. "I'm sad about losing my Dad and my mother's failing health. There are moments when I wish for my parents' sake that I had been born a boy or that they had had more children than me. They always said I was their miracle baby after two decades of trying, but it was a lot of pressure. Being their daughter was different as a child, then a teenager, and even at college, but living there trying to help my mother run the business of a farm while doing my job and assisting her with her responsibilities was a heavy burden. And yet I'd have it back to take my father out of the grave."

"He wasn't a young man, Esme," Mrs. Baker reminded Miss Platt.

"I keep having to remind myself that," Miss Platt seemed to agree.

Doing the math, he would have been in his late fifties. To me that time seemed like a little more than a blink. That was what I would get with Miss Platt. Even though that had been clear from the outset, the reality of it was startling. We were just starting out. She had about twenty to thirty years left if she died at the average age. Suddenly a chill ran through me.

"You alright?" Mr. Swift asked.

"Yeah," I assured him, "just a chill."

"Nervous about tonight?" he whispered, as the other lads were engaged in their own discussion.

"Weren't you?" I replied trying to deflect the question.

"Of course," he agreed. "No matter how many times you go at it with a whore, it is different with your wife, especially since whores easily accommodate and virgins bleed." He paused frowning and then smiling conspiratorially, "but no matter how many whores you have or broads that open their legs, there's something powerful about taking your wife for the first time and then watching her belly fill with your seed. Whores and broads might be fun, but nothing beats a wife."

Without my noticing my hands had clenched. The only indication was what had once been my cigar had become merely crushed leaves. The coarseness in which they spoke about women enraged me. Doctors were no different, really. And too many times had a nurse carried the scent of a married doctor only to disappear once the indications of pregnancy appeared or for her to remain carrying the scents of an ended pregnancy. These were the truths about humans, especially the men in the last century or so. Every mated vampires I had met were possessive and defensive, as the death of one was the end of them both, and even sometimes a few non-mated individuals behaved similarly with their partners. With our keen sense of smell no couple, irrelevant of type, could get away with the types of things humans did. At least in Voltura there seemed to be the atmosphere of what I imagined to be the Roman Empire. Gender seemed to be rarely considered and, apart from mates, random intimacy seemed regular.

Opening my hands, I tried to remind myself that I was not of their world and these attitudes like all else would pass. For a fleeting instant, though, I could not help but wonder if this difference between them and myself was one of things that attracted Miss Platt to my offer. My thoughts turning to Miss Platt caused my ears to tune back into her and Mrs. Baker's conversation once more, although I made sure to keep myself at least somewhat attuned to the men and going ons around me.

"What is it like?" Miss Platt asked.

"Challenging," Mrs. Baker answered. After a moment she added, "George is gone a lot. The maids and governances help, but it is lonely. Honestly, your description of running a farm does not sound very different. There are a lot of people and a lot of tasks and a lot of things that must be put into place. It is a lot of responsibility. I miss my husband when he is not there, but there is more work to be done when he is there. Then there are the little things that indicate that he has taken a mistress. I do not know how to feel about that."

"Is he discreet at least?" Miss Platt asked her tone sad.

"Yes," Mrs. Baker answered. "It is the way of men. I expected no different."

"I am concerned Dorothy that although he promises me faithfulness that he will be unable to keep his word," she confessed.

"Doctors are just as bad as businessmen, Esme, you know this as much as I do," Mrs. Baker said in an admonishing tone.

"I know," Miss Platt agreed sounding disheartened. Then almost as if she were defending my honour, she stated, "He has assisted me in keeping employment, even with the delays due to my father."

"Truly?" Mrs. Baker asked astonished.

"Yes," Miss Platt replied. "He is a doctor, but he is different than any man I have ever met."

"He is an odd one," Mrs. Baker agreed. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"As much as I can be," Miss Platt said.

"I hope he is a good match for you," Mrs. Baker offered warmly.

"Me too," Miss Platt agreed before they began discussing events in the lives of other classmates.

The men's conversations along with Mrs. Baker's admissions were a brutal reminder of the world Miss Platt came from and what she expected. Worse yet I did not know how I might assuage her concerns. My pretence of being human limited my ability to defend and explain myself. It was exasperating, even if the alternative was worse.

Eventually the band stopped playing and her friends wished us well with promises to keep in correspondence before heading back to wherever they had travelled from. Most of them were in need of returning home, which had made their appearance all the more sweet.

Miss Platt bade farewell to her mother, and I paid a coach to take Mrs. Platt back to the hotel where she would lodge for one more night. After everyone had said their goodbyes, the coach that I had hired to transport Miss Platt and Mrs. Platt to the church and be on standby for anyone else to use took us home.

"Was everything to your liking?" I hoped after a few blocks had been travelled.

"Yes," she insisted smiling brightly. "The wedding planner did a magnificent job creating what I had requested."

"Good," I affirmed pleased to hear it. "And the dress?" I questioned and she had complained about it off and on.

"A bit too much," she admitted. "Nevertheless, it was appropriate for Hartford and tasteful."

"Will you be able to wear it again as you hoped?" I wondered curiously.

"Yes," she agreed after a moment. "I will alter it slightly so it is less of a wedding dress, but I do think it is reusable."

"Good," I told her, as she had emphasised the importance of that more than once.

"And the rings?" she asked appearing nervous.

"Have I not said at least three times how enchanted I am with them?" I queried.

"You did," she agreed. "I am merely checking that your opinion on this matter has not changed."

"Rather, the more I look at it the more fitting I think it is," I told her effusively. Turning towards her and taking her gloved hands in mine, I told her, "Truly, Mrs. Cullen, you are a magical creature, just as I suspected from the beginning. You have taken a source of irritation and resistance and transformed it into something of which I am proud. I have never been a husband before, thus have no clue how to ensure the vows uttered today. But with certainty I will do by best to fulfil them everyday. I am honoured to be bound to you and even more so to carry my vows proudly in the clothes you made for me, but even more in the band you designed. You are a masterpiece of which there is no equal."

By the end of my speech she appeared flustered and a little embarrassed.

"Please don't be," I told her softly. "Everything you do, especially when you do it well, only increases my admiration for you and my astonishment that a creature such as you agreed to be my wife."

Smiling bashfully she looked up to me. "A girl could never grow tired of your words, Dr. Cullen. As I stated previously, the heart wants what the heart wants. Nevertheless, I am glad the rings please you."

"Greater than words could ever express," I stated adamantly. Gazing into her eyes, while ensuring not to hypnotise her, I told her, "I cannot promise perfection. Without doubt I will hurt you or frighten you or embarrass you. But please know these things are never my intention. My desire as your husband is to create the space for you to live your life happy and free. Please promise me that at any time I fail to do so that you will tell me."

Smiling at me she uttered softly, "I promise only if you agree to the same. I have no wish to cage you."

The idea was preposterous causing me to smile broadly. Fortunately, I was confident that smiling in this way wouldn't frighten her. Then, I proclaimed, "You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Cullen, but it is agreed."

Matching my smile she squeezed my hand.

When the coach driver stopped in front of our home, I picked Miss Platt up into my arms keeping some distance between us, as so she would not lay her head on my body and discover my lack of heartbeat, and carried her through the doors. Once we were passed the threshold, I placed her on her feet.

"Come Mrs. Cullen and take a look at the place you have chosen," I instructed. "I hope it suits your fancy."

She looked over at me nervously. "Esme, please, Carlisle. Here in private, in our home, I implore you to call me Esme."

Smiling I told her, "I might wish to call you Mrs. Cullen now and then."

She smiled shyly at me and then nodded.

"Let me take your outer garments," I requested.

Without responding she turned her back to me in the manner expected. After the jacket was hung, she gently turned her towards me. Paying careful attention, I removed her hat and then gloves, which were both white, placing them down gently on the armoire. In our home, I felt more comfortable analyzing her. My conclusion was that the dress added to her beauty. It was slightly fancier than say a ball gown, but not terribly more. It showed her throat and some of her shoulders as well as her collarbones. It seemed to flow and glide with her. In fact it made me think of her as some form of angle or fairy. The boots I saw at brief instances gave her height and added to the whimsical nature of the attire.

"And you?" she asked her words seeming to get caught in her throat.

"If you wish," I replied unsure of the etiquette between a husband and wife. Men assisted in women's attire without a shadow of a doubt. It was simply gentlemanly in this era. But I had never seen a woman assist with a man's coat in public. At the same time, I did not want to deny her this, if it was important to her.

Taking off my own hat, I handed it to her, to which she placed it on the hat rack next to her own. Then I took off my gloves and we repeated the process.

"May I remove your coat?" she asked as I went to undo the first button.

Looking at her curiously, she appeared bashful but earnest.

"You don't have to," I told her in case she felt some sense of obligation.

The capillaries in her cheeks filled slightly giving her a plush pink colour, but she held my gaze solidly. "I would like to do this for you," she explained.

"All right, then," I agreed confused at her resolute tone, but unwilling to press her more.

She stepped in closer to me and one by one undid my buttons. She kept her eyes on her fingers while I watched her carefully uncertain of what her request was supposed to indicate. Certainly she would not have forgotten my requirement of our marriage being chaste.

"Turn around, please," she requested once the last button was undone.

Without question or comment I did as she had solicited.

Even through the dress jacket, I could feel her heat caressing my skin as her hands slid down my vest along my shoulders and onto my back. It was an exquisite, if not foreign feeling. While I was revelling and evaluating, she brought the jacket down my back entirely and then placed it on the coat rack. Without saying anything else she moved out of the foyer and towards the sitting room, which was to the left and practically empty. Moving slowly around the room, she began to explore the home I had purchased for her appearing lost in her thoughts.

"Has the furniture not come yet?" she asked suddenly turning towards the doorframe from where I had been watching her.

"No, it has not arrived," I answered.

She nodded as she walked slowly around the room once more taking extra time to admire the window space.

"Would now be a good time for you to tell me about your reaction to the furniture?" I asked unsure of how to broach the subject or even to interpret her behaviour.

The awareness that had been present throughout the day of how little we knew each other seemed to become an entity between us. Yet, at the same time, I realized that would be true of most newly married couples. So much in my life had become monotonous before her. So, even though the unknown her presence brought unnerved me, it also delighted me. She was a mystery that I would solve. We had until her death for me to do so, after all.

She inhaled sharply and then appeared to calm herself before speaking. "My mother insisted that I take practically everything. I do not think she plans on living much longer. I set up things there for her to be taken care of when she is to pass. I believe she wanted to be here for the wedding, but beyond that there is little holding her to earth."

"I am sorry to hear that," I uttered softly certain in her assessment, especially after Mrs. Platt's confessions, yet unaware of how to soothe this clear hurt in Miss Platt. After a few moments had passed, I asked curious and apprehensive, "Will the furniture sadden you?"

"No," she stated swiftly and assuredly like she was swatting at a fly. After a moment she spoke again this time her voice softer, "I will try to remember that it is an expression of how much my mother loves me."

It was the best answer I could have asked for, which, given the situation, relieved my concerns.

Appearing like she was not truly present, she moved out of the sitting room, into the hallway, and then walked down the hall into the kitchen.

As soon as we entered the room, I told her as a way to explain its barrenness, "I did not know what you would want. Also, I do not use the kitchen. We shall go when you are ready and purchase what you need."

"You have no food?" she asked surprised as she opened the cupboards and icebox.

"None," I replied. "Of course, if you desire, we could always hire a cook."

She stopped a moment and stared at me like my words were from another language. Finally she seemed to come back into herself and uttered, "Thank you for the offer, but given your need for privacy would that not add complications?"

"I would simply leave her for you to manage," I explained to her. "Many of the doctor's households have one, but I have never had the need prior, as I have always taken my meals out of the home."

"Something to consider," she said contemplatively like she had actually begun to digest my words. "Is there a company that delivers ice here?"

"Most likely, but we shall have to enquire," I told her.

"Let us do that and I will cook," she stated gently and firmly closing the matter.

The words 'You should not plan on feeding me. I will eat outside of the home,' were lined up and ready to be said, but the way she stated her intention of cooking stopped me for fear I might begin our first argument. Instead, my tone was firm, as I wanted to make sure she was clear on this matter, and told her, "You should only plan on feeding yourself."

She did not reply, acting as if she did not hear me. Instead she simply moved out of the kitchen and walked up the stairs, entering the first door on the left.

Letting the topic of food go, I explained to her hoping my decisions about the room's use was agreeable to her, "I made this into my study as it was the smallest room."

"It is fine, Carlisle," she told me as her eyes scanned the shelves. She moved towards them her eyes looking questioningly at me.

"What is mine is yours," I reminded her, "please."

She ran her hand along the spines. "You have quite the collection."

"I am a lover of books, as you already know," I reminded her.

"And you have read everyone?" she asked reverently.

"At least once," I confessed.

She moved around the room. When arriving behind my desk she placed her hand on my father's cross. Stroking it gently in admiration she asked, "What is this?"

A strange feeling entered me as the realisation that her scent was being soaked into this artefact. "It is the cross that hung in my father's church," I told her stoically trying to hide the torrent of emotions that simple act had conjured.

"It is beautiful," she told me in hushed tones, as if the item had quieted her.

"He made it himself," I explained.

"A nobleman and a carver of wood. What an interesting combination."

I smiled at her observation. "Yes, he was an interesting man."

"Do you miss him?" she asked her back still towards me.

"No," I answered honestly, and then expounded, "but I do wish he would have been here to welcome you to our family. I would like to imagine that he would have been endeared to you."

She turned smiling softly at me.

"Sit, Esme," I instructed her as she appeared even more lost than when we had entered the house.

Mindlessly she did as I had requested.

Sitting in the other chair, I observed her carefully. She appeared withdrawn, almost like she was grieving, but on edge. It reminded me somewhat of the men I have stitched up on a battlefield.

"Please, Esme, speak," I implored her. "You are clearly bothered."

The whole time her eyes had been on the books directly in her line of sight, but she did not appear to be seeing them.

Slowly moving closer to her, I squatted down so that my head was in her field of vision. "What is it?"

She shook her head slightly and when her eyes focused on me she was smiling.

As she seemed more herself, I settled myself back into the chair.

Muttering softly as if speaking to herself, she uttered, "It seems unreal."

"Pardon?" I asked her my tone imploring.

She looked over in my direction, but her eyes seemed to be viewing my knees. Taking in a deep breath as if preparing herself she spoke, "I have begged God since meeting in the hospital to be your wife, and being here seems impossible."

"Impossible?" I repeated confused and shocked at her admission.

"I graduated college," she voiced sounding distant.

"You did," I agreed trying to keep the concern out of my tone.

"My father died," she stated with her grief still clear.

"He did," I concurred.

"And my mother escorted me out East to become your wife. I stood in front of God and my friends and a priest and vowed to be your wife," she offered with awe in her tone.

"All true," I agreed still befuddled.

"I keep waiting to wake up, to find out that this is just another one of my silly dreams and not reality," she confessed.

Sitting in my office with her across from me felt as unreal to me as she was describing. Since she had walked down the aisle, I had been trying to adjust myself to the fact that I had married Miss Platt. For reasons unknown us sharing this sentiment caused my mind to retrieve the letter she had sent me about two weeks after I had placed the engagement ring on her finger.

Dear My Betrothed,

Once more your generosity floors me. Although we have had lessons in the most basic elements of economics, I suspect that they have left large holes in my education if I am to meet your desire in this regard. To this end, I hope you are willing to be a patient teacher, as arithmetic is not my strongest subject.

Your belief in us expressing our opinions regarding matrimony seems wise. Few are afforded such an opportunity and I would guess even less see the value in it. Yet as a member of the fairer sex, I often have witnessed unhappy wives. Your words made me consider if perhaps husbands are also unhappy. My parents seemed to get along fine enough. They rarely fought and had seemed, by all appearances, to have found a way to make a life together. At the same time, I would not wish them to be my model for marriage.

You asked for me to speak on my ideas of being a wife and you as a husband. When I go to do so, I find myself hesitant to speak. Certainly, I could easily tell you what I have learned is the role of a wife through my education: be pretty, please your husband, and arrange the social events necessary to further his career. Yet, I know that you loathe even half truths and over the years have challenged me to consider my own opinion, even if it might differ from my instructors or yours.

Certainly, my mother did not bother with her appearance when at home, although would do so on say a Sunday for church. My father was a farmer and so there were no social events to arrange for him. My mother's roles were to ensure there was food for the winter, cook meals, clean the clothes and the house, and mind the children. As such, I have no frame of reference in which to place my college lessons or how my life will look with you.

You have claimed more than once that what you seek more than anything is for me to be happy. Yet, what more could a person ask for than freedom, which you not only give, but insist I claim? Therefore, it is with sincerity that I say that I have little to no idea what being your wife will look like, what sharing your finances entails, nor what expectations I have of myself let alone you.

What I hope for above all else is that you meant your words, and our marriage will give me the freedom I crave. I know that it will be important to me to do little things to make your life easier. What that entails, I assume, you will have to teach me.

That is to say that ultimately I enter this union with little assumptions and few images, but with the fortitude that comes in knowing that we will learn together. You give me courage in ways I did not even know I needed. Thus, with great anticipation I look forward to the day when we are married.

With great affection,

Miss Esme Platt

At the time something in her letter had calmed my worries and had allowed me to go through the steps we had agreed to with hope. Ironically, in a similar way her confession pleased me.

"It is real. Remember in your letter you stated that I would have to teach you. And, I have said the same to you. You will need to teach me." I told her. When it appeared that she still appeared lost I considered that perhaps what had been spoken at our reception had added worries to her. Wanting to address these, even if they were supposed to have been unheard, I added, "Without doubt others have offered you insight into marriage as they have done me."

She looked over at me blinking rapidly.

Taking that as an invitation, I continued, "But we are not them. Yes, I am a doctor, but my father was a vicar. Yes, my father came from money and we were wealthy, but I was raised that to stray from your wife was a sin. I meant the words offered to you when you asked about my plans on remaining faithful to you. There has been no other since we met and there will be no other until death separates us."

"You cannot know for sure," she argued sounding defeated. "All of my friends' husbands gave them the same assurances, but have not fulfilled them. It is simply the nature of things."

"I disagree," I insisted. "Men can have self-control if they choose, but often would rather behave abominably and seek out momentary pleasure. That is not me."

"I have seen the house you have chosen," she commented almost absentmindedly. "It is nothing like the responsibility Dorothy has, which gives me more time for my leisurely pursuits. You do not wish for me to feed you nor to take care of your carnal needs. I am left adrift confused as to why you would even want a wife."

Surprised at her conclusions, I refuted her, "Because I enjoy your company. Is that enough? I do not know. I am still uncertain if we did the right thing by making it so. Nevertheless, I speak the truth."

Yet, even though my words had been meant to empathise with her, her reaction was defensive. In the same amount of time it had taken my mind to review the letter her demeanour had changed, and she looked at me sternly. "Whatever do you mean?"

Grateful at her appearing more present, but sensing that this was a conversation full of possible entanglements and argument, I told her diplomatically, "Just as you are uncertain, I am also uncertain."

She smiled slightly looking slightly relieved, and then stated, "Together."

"That is what your letter promised, did it not?" I pressed.

Smiling broader, she agreed, "I did."

"You are not alone in having concerns, Esme," I attempted to assure her. "I know no more how to be a husband than you a wife."

She nodded and her body appeared less ridged.

"Your mother spoke to me while we danced," I told her.

"I saw," she agreed. "Wish to share?"

Wincing, I told her, "She requested that if I ever need to discipline you that I do so with my words rather than my hands."

Her eyes bugged out and her mouth opened. Once she collected herself she began fidgeting with her hands. Eventually she seemed to gather her courage and ask, "And what did you say?"

"That she had no reason to worry," I stated.

In a soft timid voice she asked, "Can you say what things might displease you so that I can work at not doing them?"

Moving over to her and squatting once more, I put her hands between mine.

As I spoke she kept her eyes on our hands.

"Esme, please let go of this idea. I find the conception that women would need to be disciplined at all abominable. There will no doubt be moments when I displease you or you I. When these happen, I hope that we will speak them to one another, learn from these mistakes, and not repeat them. You are not a child. You are my wife. If I wanted a servant, I would have hired one. I wanted an equal, someone to speak with about a great many things, someone to enjoy reading with or music. I wanted a companion and a friend. This is the answer to why I offered to court you. I do not require the things other men seek."

Finally she looked up at me. "Equal?" she asked in confirmation.

"We each have our own natures, talents, likes, dislikes. We are not the same, but we are equal. That was what I wished for," I divulged.

"I am certainly the luckiest girl," she gushed.

Disagreeing, but not wanting to debate her, especially as she finally looked like herself, I stood up.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes," she agreed.

Putting out my hand in assistance, I asked, "Shall we see the rest of the house, then?"

"Certainly," she agreed appearing slightly embarrassed.

From my perspective she was brave and courageous. Doubting she would believe me and unsure of how to convince her, with her hand in my elbow I simply guided her out of that room and into the next room, a bedroom. Hopefully, that would be the last time we would need to have that conversation, but as the beliefs of her era were ingrained in her I doubted that would be the case. As we walked my mind attempted to create an arguement that would assure her that she did not need to worry about my fidelity.

The only possible challenge to my fidelity to her would be if my mate were to make herself known in the next decades, but I had already considered that. My conclusion had been, in the extremely unlikely chance that happened, that I would simply have to explain the situation and hope that my mate would understand.

"My room," I told Miss Platt reminding myself to remain in the present.

There was a bed and a dresser, but not much else.

She stared at my things for a moment before walking back into the hall. The next door led to the bathroom, but she did not step into the room. She merely opened the door and peeked inside. As she neared the last door, she appeared hesitant, but must have found the nerve, because she turned the handle and opened it.

Then she just stood there her mouth hung open.

"I hope you like it," I told her shyly. I had paid the wedding planner extra to decorate the room. In the centre was a four-poster bed. The room was coloured in light browns and greens, which almost seemed to give it an air of being more in a forest than a bedroom. The bedspread was a white colour that held a touch of yellow in it. The dresser and armoire were from the same carpenter as the bed and so matched. "I had them put your trunks over there," I pointed out.

She took a step in but said nothing her eyes large and tears began to form in the corner of her eyes.

"Did I misstep?" I queried concerned at her reaction.

Turning to me, she replied, "Quite the contrary. You could not have created a more perfect space if I had designed it myself. I am simply overwhelmed at your attention to detail and all that you have done to welcome me into your life."

Unsure of what to say I began to turn around presuming she wanted some privacy and told her, "I shall leave you to it, then."

Instead, she came towards me and enveloped me briefly in an embrace that was probably tight for her. "Thank you," she whispered looking up at me. "It is beyond what I could have ever hoped for."

Smiling at her, I ran my hands down her arms. "You're very welcome. I do hope that you are happy here with me."

She pulled back further and looked at me seriously. "Well, what shall we do now?"

"Are you hungry?" I enquired, as I had not seen her eat anything in many hours.

"Yes," she answered after a moment's pause.

"Well, the shops will be closed by now, so let us go out to eat," I proposed.

"I would like to go to a casual establishment, a diner perhaps, something within walking distance. I could do with some fresh air," she suggested.

"Whatever you wish," I told her earnestly.

Turning to leave, I was a step towards the door when she asked sounding hesitant, "Um, Carlisle?"

"Yes?" I asked turning back to her.

"I would like to change into a more casual attire and I need your assistance to undo the dress and undergarments for me," she divulged bashfully.

"Of course," I replied wispily shocked to realise that I had not considered the workings of female clothing.

She turned her back to me.

Taking a step forward, I considered for the first time how I was actually going to live with a female in my home. Sure, I had thought about her physical needs, but this exemplified how little about women I really knew. Tentatively, one by one with extreme care, I undid the buttons to the back of her dress. The shoulders slipped down a little exposing the tops of her shoulder blades. I examined the way that the undergarment had been laced up and began to undo it loosening it as I went. Somehow the nature of the dress had turned her into a siren. A few times in doing my task my finger touched the delicate skin under her garment.

"Is that enough?" I asked long after I had begun to hold my breath needing to escape.

"Yes, thank you. I would like to take a bath first. Is that acceptable?" she asked demurely.

The image that assaulted me was scandalous. "Certainly," I replied my voice unusually hoarse. "I will be in my study. Come and fetch me when you are ready to go," I instructed her my voice still sounding strange to my ears.

"I will do," she agreed.

With that I turned and fled as quickly as seemed appropriate without letting her become aware of my need to leave with the Lord's name on my lips, as I went praying for strength. I could not stop the images nor the desire that undressing her had stirred within me. A part of me wanted to argue that she was my wife, and that it was within my right to touch her body. Certainly we had done nothing improper. We were married after all. Long after I heard her garments fall to the floor, she wrapped herself in a bathrobe, and prepared herself a bath, the heat she had radiated warmed my fingertips and how she felt softer than silk would not leave me.

One of our phone conversations had included a detailed explanation about the house and that I had the appropriate apparatus installed to provide her with hot water from the tap, but as she entered the bathroom and turned it on she seemed to marvel at it. All her sounds of surprise and approval along with her movements into the bath only worsened my body's responses to her, despite my futile attempts to stop its reactions. It was like my newborn years had returned with my instincts screaming at me, even if it was not blood. The strength of how much my body wanted her surprised me, as it was far greater than I ever had experienced before. Without doubt I had entered Dante's Inferno.

How was it in all my preparation of having her here that I had not considered these aspects? Sitting in my office, unable to not hear her, it dawned on me that having a woman who was my wife living with me would be the greatest temptation I had ever faced. My whole body was in anticipation, as if it expected me to pounce on her. My reaction would make perfect sense as a human man. Even the priest, Miss Platt's friend's husbands, and fellow doctors had asked about such things. But I was not human. To give into this desire would do nothing but ask her to sacrifice her life. I could not fathom how I was going to manage, but I would. In the beginning, I had not known how to resist the urge to drink human blood, but I had.

God would show me a way, just as He had before, because the only alternative was to force my venom into her and risk her death. And that was completely unacceptable.

* * *

 _A/N: So, before the first chapter I warned readers that this story would contains mature themes._ _Although the chapters up to now would certainly be T in my mind, I see that changing. Bluntly put, they are married. Their conversations and the events of the next chapters are going to be ones that, in my opinion, qualify for "adult themes" as the challenges of marriage, especially theirs, are adult issues. You are duly warned.  
_

 _Also, thank you to those who have encouraged me with their reviews. Other writers say this and it is true for me: I greatly appreciate each of you. I look forward to reading and responding to your thoughts regarding this chapter._

 _Blessings and peace._


	11. Adjustments

**Chapter 11: Adjustments**

* * *

After some deep breaths, prayers, and then remembering that God had removed the obstacles to bring this day, my reactions to Miss Platt seemed to calm somewhat in their intensity. It was only our first night and already I could see her wisdom of entering the marriage with openness. Certainly the necessities of her clothes had been unexpected, but it was not anything to recoil from I scolded myself. Oddly enough the idea that she and I were figuring our arrangement out together did much to aid me. When she was ready to seek out her nourishment so was I, even if mine would need to wait. We went to a place I had passed multiple times. We enjoyed our time together conversing about her family, her conversations with her friends who had been able to attend the wedding, and her plan to spend the next morning with her mother before putting Mrs. Platt on the train for her return.

Unfortunately the peace accompanying us as we walked to the diner, spoke while eating, and walked home was short lived. Even though cherished moments did occur occasionally, mostly the first month as a married man was nothing short of pure torture mixed with sublime bliss. Each time she needed help with her garments to get dressed or undressed contained an equal amount of magnificence and torment. The nurses went through their monthly change, so I had expected Miss Platt's scent to change through the month. It had taken me a few years to become completely accustomed to the nurses' hormonal cycles, particularly the younger nurses, but eventually it had become nothing more than a diagnostic tool. That was not the case with Miss Platt.

Each change in her stirred my loins, but none more than when she ovulated. Her scent became richer, fuller, and more alluring. As the weeks passed, her scent infiltrated every corner of the house; nothing was immune. I carried her to work from the oils her fingers had pressed into my clothing, as she had laundered my belongings. She was in my study in the books that she read, the places she sat, and everywhere she walked. As much as possible, to aid myself in reducing her siren's call, I had taken to opening up the windows to air out the house, something I had never done before. The scents that were brought in were often repugnant, but they helped me resist her.

To make matters worse on my days off, after her bath, she would come and join me in nothing but her nightgown and bathrobe. The garments often moved so that her ankles showed. A few times the bottoms of her thighs and her collarbone also made an appearance. The images that assaulted my mind were gentle and reverent of her, yet scandalous; the desire to kiss the exposed skin, to feel it under my hands sometimes felt more important than anything else. When in a rationale state of mind I acknowledged that the fantasies assaulting me were probably no different than any other newlywed human male. However, I was not human. Consequently, they were unacceptable. Instead of giving in to them as a human male most certainly would have, I resisted and as a result took to hunting almost as much as when I had been a newborn.

The rhythm we found, however, pleased me. Given the lateness in the year, her employer and she had agreed for her to start at the school in September. This gave her much free time, which she spent exploring the city and reading, apart from the household chores she occupied herself with. When possible I would accompany her on her outings. Additionally upon her request, we attended Sunday morning service together each week at the location where we had been married, even if I met her there from work. She seemed to not mind my shifts at the hospital or the hours she was home alone. When we were together we spent much of our time discussing recent events.

The real major tension that had been between us the first month of our marriage was around food. Despite my statement to only cook for herself on that first entrance into our home, for this first month she had continued to make food that probably took hours to prepare only for me to barely choke down a few bites. By the end of the month and after many requests for her to stop preparing meals for me, she had given into my request, but I could tell that not cooking for me had been a blow to her. I should have anticipated her expectation on this matter, so I felt bad watching her struggle to adjust to me. What was especially difficult was that my coarse statements did nothing to give her comfort in understanding my behaviour, and as I was loathed to lie to her could offer her nothing more. She simply had to take my rejection without explanation. It was impressive, however, how she, despite the hurt seen on her features, never pressed me about it and eventually accepted the little offered to her.

Keeping the secret causing me pain and discomfort was not new, but watching it negatively affect someone I had promised to love and cherish was a blow that could have never been truly anticipated in its entirety, even though I had expected it to be challenging.

However, our struggles in communication in regards to food were not my greatest surprise. That came the first day I was due to work after we had been wed. She had been standing by the front door when she requested, "Wait please, Carlisle."

"Yes?" I had asked curious about the reasons for her appeal.

She had walked up to me boldly and had placed her hands on my cheeks. I had been in such wonder at her temperature and feeling of her skin on mine that I had failed to notice, until it was too late, that she was bringing her face closer to mine. At which point I had frozen uncertain of what to do. She had quickly brushed her lips against mine and then had withdrawn. It had been a chaste kiss, not very different in length or degrees in how I had seen parents kissing children or even siblings exchange quick greetings. Despite its innocent nature, it had sent an electric current from my lips directly into my groin.

I had been awoken from my surprise with her voice asking me, "Was that all right?"

Looking down at her, I had smiled slightly and warred with myself about how to answer. I had wanted to tell her no and to ask her not to do it again. It had been simply too tempting, but the vulnerability on her face had held me back.

"Yes, Esme, it was a sweet thought. You simply took me by surprise," I had told her in the end.

She had smiled then in triumph, and had repeated the action every day before I left. It was the best and worst part of my day.

Despite her scent on my clothes, the hospital was my refuge. The smell of ammonia, urine, and faeces mixed with blood and sweat and tears was familiar. It reminded me how temptation could be overcome.

Unfortunately, the hospital held its own challenges. Choosing a position that would require a longer stay than I was accustomed required me to pay closer attention to the workings of the staff, particularly who was liked, who was disliked, and why. I noticed couples between staff and a patient. I noticed my co-workers wearing the perfume of the nurses even though they were married. I heard the conversations between nurses when one thought they were pregnant and their options of how to get rid of it, since keeping a bastard child was never an option. Of course, many of these conversations I had heard before, but before they had held little weight to me. They had been nothing more than background noise. But with Esme at home, and me wanting to honour her request for me to keep this position for up to ten years, I began to see them differently.

The more time that passed the more it became apparent that I knew so little about the worries of women, apart from what could be overheard. That did little to answer my concerns regarding my wife. Was she happy while I was gone? Would she worry that I would come home with some other woman's perfume on my clothes? Was she lonely? As the time passed and my views of things began to change, I started to grow concerned that my isolation was becoming hers.

Even though she insisted time and time again that she was fine, and in need of nothing, in May I suggested to her that she find an art class for the summer, and took her to an art store where I bought her supplies. Against her attempts of meek protests, we set up for her a little working area in the sitting room by the windows. As June approached, she talked about a few of the other people that she had met in the class along with some of the techniques she had learned. Occasionally when she spoke the Miss Platt I had observed with her roommate, Miss Griffin, came out. Hopefully that meant that I had made the right choice in pressing her. Additionally, she would brighten when a letter arrived from one of her classmates or a relative from home. They were few with the exception of Miss Griffin who she spoke to at the public box about every three to four weeks. Even if it was from a distance, I was pleased to watch her maintain those connections.

Coming into June she seemed to brighten and I hoped that whatever concerns she had been unwilling to voice to me, or that she herself were unaware of, had left her. Then one day she suggested we take our books to the sitting room and read. The request seemed reasonable enough, but there was something in her tone that caused me to be weary. I sat at the edge of one corner of the bay window my back against the wall and my feet firmly planted on the floor while she curled herself into the other corner her feet under her robe, but on the cushion. Despite my attempts to read, I failed miserably as her presence was too much of a distraction.

"Carlisle, are you aware that we are married?" she asked after an hour or so, interrupting my attempts to focus on the text.

"Yes, Esme," I told her uncertain of what she was hinting at.

"Are you aware as a married couple that we are permitted to touch one another?" she pressed in a way that suggested she had already lain out a trap for me.

"Yes," I answered even more hesitantly.

She looked at me waiting.

Slowly, I put down my book concerned about what she might be hinting at. I had believed myself to be clear on this matter in our courting.

"I miss touch, Carlisle," she stated softly and reluctantly as if loathed to bring the matter up. "A hand on my arm or thigh would be appreciated, and within the confines you requested, I would think. I understand that you do not wish to infect me, but certainly there are ways we could express affection to one another. Chaste does not mean no contact at all? Does it? I mean you permit me to kiss you goodbye. Carlisle, please, help me understand," she all but begged.

Instantly, I was filled with remorse. It took me no time at all to realized that I was not accustomed to being touched. Yet, certainly her mother and her would have exchanged casual familial touches. In my mind I knew that humans touched one another. I felt like a right sod.

"I am so sorry, Esme. I have been alone for a long time. People at work do not touch me, and I only touch others in a medical capacity. It is not something in which I am accustomed. Please forgive me for being inconsiderate of your needs," I begged her unable to hide my guilt from being expressed in my tone.

"All is forgiven," she said easily as if I had no reason to feel disgraced. "I understood before I said anything that you bore no ill intent." She sat in thought for a moment. "How about I lay my feet upon your legs and you run your hands along my feet? Would that be acceptable?"

Certainly it was tempting, but of all the things she could have suggested it seemed the least intimate. "Yes, that is acceptable," I agreed reluctantly, but unwilling to say no to what was for her a basic biological need.

As soon as I spoke, she began to move and shortly after placed her feet upon my legs. She then went back to reading as if nothing had happened.

Placing the book in my left hand as to cover my face from her, I gingerly took my right hand and placed it on her foot. My whole body tingled and thumped at the rhythm of the vein below my fingers.

"Is this acceptable to you?" I asked her my words coming out choked.

"Yes," she said softly.

"My hands are not too cold for you?" I checked. "I do not wish to give you a chill."

"No, you are fine," she assured me.

Saying nothing more, I simply began exploring her feet with my fingers. I catalogued every hair, every bump, every dip, every mole, where the veins beat so strongly that they drummed against my fingers, where her bones and tendons met, every tiny thing. It was blissful. Miss Platt seemed to appreciate my movements, as she seemed to relaxed the longer I touched her. I would need to be more attentive to her requirements.

At work I began to pay close attention to how the nurses interacted, the touches they gave each other, and how they touched patients. I noted how they kept their distance and behaved differently with male staff members than they did with one another. I also began to see how the other doctors interacted with each other, but were weary of doing so with me. My nature told them instinctually to keep their distance, for which I was grateful, as it created less questions, but my observations made me aware of how utterly alone I truly had been.

The more I observed the more my mind wandered back to my conversations with Aro. Certainly my choices made me an outcast of the vampire world, but how often did vampires touch each other solely for affection? When they killed a human how long did their touch last before the body was empty of blood? Less than a minute? Then my mind began to wonder things like if sex outside of mated pairs satisfy a need for touch? Nomads could go years before finding another of our kind. And Aro touched others, but to gain information. What would it be like if our species was more human in this way? Was it that we did not need touch, as humans seemed to? Or perhaps the demons that dwelt within us prohibited the risk that regular touch would create? There were no answers, but the questions themselves caused me to see my world and the in-between one I had created differently.

Next time I hunted my mind attempted to catalogue how touch in this way impacted me. How many decades had it been that my touch of another hadn't been to feed myself or as a doctor? These thoughts and my new awareness both highlighted things I had lost in my transformation and how deeply Miss Platt's presence in my life was altering how I saw myself. Regularly I itched to talk to Aro about my thoughts and debate with him. Each time the thought arose, I immediately dismissed it, but perhaps after Miss Platt's death there would be an opportunity to engage in dialogue of the nature of touch in each of our species.

These thoughts only increased as Miss Platt's request began a new pattern for us where every couple of days she would ask to read in the sitting room and I knew this was her gentle way of asking for touch. Doing these small gestures for her stirred within me the sense of being more human than I ever had before. We were still companions, but there was a familiarity that I had not expected. It pleased me beyond measure. To aid her I also attempted to be more attentive to touch her in reassurance. She placed her arm into mine when we explored the city as always, but I also took to taking my other hand and placing it on her arm. At home I would lightly squeeze her shoulder or move a piece of hair from her face. Each time I did so she smiled brightly and whatever tension she was holding seemed to dissipate some.

By the end of June I found the courage to ask her, "Are you happy Esme?"

Peering up from her book, she looked at me as if confused by my question. "You have given me no reason to be unhappy," she replied.

"I did not ask if you were unhappy," I stated. "I asked if you were happy."

Putting down her book completely, she sighed. "Living in a new place where I know barely anyone has been more challenging than I expected. That is made even more so by the fact that I am not working. I am accustomed to being busy, but if you are asking if I regret marrying you, the answer is no."

Considering her answer, I appreciated her candour. "Is there anything I can do to ease your adjustment?"

Frowning she told me, "I do not think so. I believe that these things just take time. I will learn the city and make acquaintances. These things do not happen overnight. I will be fine. Thank you for your concern, though."

"You're welcome," I told her.

Ever since the conversation, though, I tried to keep an eye out for things to help liven her.

In July on an evening that I had been scheduled off I surprised her for her birthday by taking her to an outdoor evening concert. Although we had started the evening the appropriate distance apart, by half way through she was leaning into my shoulder.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Cullen?" I asked concerned that I was making her uncomfortable.

"You are the perfect antidote to this muggy weather in this attire," she told me in a hushed tone that doubtfully carried beyond my ears.

"As long as I bring you no discomfort," I relented.

The music, her scent, and her heat seeping into my body penetrating my left side were an exquisite mixture. As long as she never laid her head near my heart and learned that it carried no beat, I could see no harm, except to my strength in resisting her advances.

As the month progressed, I found places where music was played, and then would secure a corner where we could be in the background, while we sat next to each other and listened to the musicians. We went to art galleries and took a coach to parks where we could explore. True to her word, as the time progressed she appeared to smile more and on more than one occasion I came home to find her painting instead of at the door to greet me. It pleased me that her life did not revolve around mine.

August brought her belongings from her parent's house. Immediately, she set me to work moving furniture around. She was standing in the sitting room scowling when I decided to do something bold. I moved towards her and reached out to her to tickle her. She screeched and moved away. I followed her extremely slowly. She looked at me in trepidation and I nearly stopped, but then a huge grin spread across her face. She moved and darted around the room keeping furniture between herself and myself. This game of chase, of her arousal swimming in the room awakened some part of the hunter in me.

When she dashed to get to behind the next furniture piece I caught her around the waist, brought her in close to me, and pressed my face in that space in between her neck and her shoulder. Inhaling deeply, her vein thumped under my lips. It took less than a second before I realised what was happening. I disentangled myself from her, and took a step back.

"Excuse me, Esme, I will return," I told her right before walking out the door keeping to our side of the street where the trees provided good shade.

Once in the forest, I ran, and when far enough away I growled loudly and deeply. Then I sunk to my knees and asked the Heavens, "Why, God? Why did you give her to me?" Pressing my head to the earth, I let out another guttural growl.

Once calm enough to think rationally, I looked over the moments and attempted to understand what had caused me to behave as I had. My only conclusion was that my taking in her scent how and where I had was somehow instinctual on my part. I reviewed my memories from Volturra. There had been tender moments between couples that I had witnessed where one of them, usually the male, had buried his nose into the same space I had assaulted Miss Platt and had inhaled deeply. The realization came to me that this was not bizarre behaviour, merely inhuman, which gave me some semblance of peace.

Yet, I was not a man for casual affairs. Did I really want to meet my mate in the future, only to have to divulge that I had acted in such a way to a human female companion? When Aro and I had spoken about my desire to keep myself for my mate, he had chastised me, pointing out that vampires were much more sexual creatures than humans with much longer lives and that remaining chaste for what might be thousands of years was absurd. Thing was despite her being human, Miss Platt was not some passing fancy. I had sworn an oath before God to keep her and cherish her. She might not be my mate, but she was my wife.

This in-between life that I lived made everything more confusing. To human standards my reactions of desire were healthy and appropriate. To vampire standards she was a pet and mine to do as I choose as long as the law was kept. But I lived in neither world fully. In this in-between place I was accountable only to God and my Hippocratic oath. What was the right thing to do? I did not know. My only answer that seemed reasonable was to do as I had done before: to be as honest with her as possible and to see what she said.

Standing up, it dawned on me that hours had passed and Miss Platt was most likely worried.

The first thing that I was aware of when entering the door after taking note of the precise hour was that she was crying. Taking in a deep breath to check that she was not physically injured, I followed the sounds to her bedroom. Gently knocking, I heard her attempt to calm herself and wipe away her tears.

"May I come in?" I asked tenderly.

"Yes," she responded between breaths.

I opened the door remaining in the hall. "Esme, my darling, I am sorry to have upset you and we do need to discuss what happened, but it is nearly time for me to go to work. Shall I call in sick or go in? I leave the choice entirely up to you."

She watched me carefully. "Go to work. We shall talk upon your return," she instructed.

"Are you sure?" I asked paying close attention to her facial expressions.

Her face softened. "Yes," she stated with certainty. "I was being irrational, Carlisle, and had believed that you had left me, even though you told me that you would return. The rest can wait. Go."

"May I enter?" I asked cautiously.

"Yes," she told me, but looked concerned.

It was the first time I had ever entered her space, apart to help her with her garments. Coming near to her and sitting on the bed, I took her hands into mine and looked solemnly into her eyes. "Never, Esme, would I leave you. I did not make a covenant before God lightly. I was upset at myself and needed time to talk to God. You did nothing wrong."

She nodded her head while a few tears dropped down her face.

I stood up. "I promise, Esme, I will return. And when I do, we will speak about this, but know I was upset with no one else but myself."

"All right," she replied.

"Enjoy your evening," I told her right before kissing her forehead.

It was not quite the same as the lips I had come to enjoy that she gave me as I parted each evening. Yet, there was something sublimely intimate about the movement. It was only in between my rounds that it dawned on me that it had been the first time I had initiated kissing her. It was a silly thing, but certainly something I could do more often. A peck on the cheek or forehead or even a kiss on her knuckles would do her no harm as long as ensuring that my lips were free of venom as I did before she gave me her kiss goodbye.

For the first time since our marriage, I was reluctant to going home. Unawares I ended up working an extra hour. The colleague who took up my patient's care saw me and teasingly asked, "You and your misses have a fight?"

Appearing puzzled I asked him, "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Usually you are watching the clock and out the door right at the end of the shift. You could have left an hour ago, but haven't," he explained.

Realizing he was right, I thanked him, elucidated that I had been very busy and had lost track of time, and headed home forcing myself to face the uneasiness that had been between us upon my leaving for work.

Although Esme's heartbeat was easily picked out as I neared the house, she seemed unusually quiet. It reminded me of when she was sixteen and had steeled herself for me repairing her leg so that she would not cry out. What had I done to cause such an expectation within her?

"Esme?" I exclaimed loudly as soon as I opened the door.

"In here," she answered me.

Following the sound of her voice, I found her in the kitchen standing on one side of the cooking island. Raising an eyebrow to her, I wondered the meaning of her location.

"This is bound to be an unpleasant conversation, and I want no other part of the house tainted," she explained with a sigh.

Refusing to argue with her logic, even though it made no sense to me, I began by saying, "I thought a lot about what to say while I was at work."

"Not to the neglect of your patients," she said bitterly.

"Where is this coming from, Esme? Have I ever given you reason to doubt my fidelity to you?" I asked genuinely concerned and befuddled.

"No," she told me as she hung her head. "I am being irrational. Please continue."

I did not know what to say to that, so did as she requested. "As you know, I was raised by my father. I have had no female interaction other than my friends' wives and the nurses until you. I had no sisters and although I might have played with other village girls, I do not remember. I often am at a loss of how to be around you, Esme. Tickling seemed harmless, and in itself it was, but you running and me chasing ignited something within me that scared me."

Looking down at the counter top, I felt her eyes on me. "When I caught you it felt instinctual to pull you close and place my lips where I did. But to feel you so close and to have your neck …" I trailed off unable to continue that line of thought. "Esme, there are these moments when I desperately want you as a husband wants a wife, but I know that cannot be. It was easier to flee and calm myself down without you tempting me. I am sorry that I scared you, though."

She walked towards me shaking her head. "And all these months I told myself that you did not want me in that way."

I looked at her surprised. "I can assure you that is not the case. You are extremely tempting. But that is not the life I promised you."

Despite my last words, she grinned looking pleased with herself and came towards me placing her hands around mine. "I apologise for allowing my imagination to run wild."

For a long minute I pondered whether to push her to explain herself. She had stated clearly that she was being irrational, which most likely meant her reactions were being driven by her emotions. Each time she had brushed me off as if not wanting to speak about these matters. Hopefully over time she would confide in me more. For the time being it seemed best to drop my desire to have her explain.

"Forgiven," I told her earnestly.

"As are you." She paused. "Thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me what you said."

"You are welcome." After a few moments, I hesitantly asked, "May we leave the kitchen now? I presume that you still have furniture you need me to move around for you."

"Yes, my husband," she answered with a smile as she walked out and I followed.

Our conversation seemed to settle something within her that I did not understand. She ordered me about until everything was in the place she deemed appropriate. It was a fun challenge to determine how to follow her instructions while doing so in a human manner. Never once did she appear confused or puzzled, so I deemed it a success. From then on we spent our reading time in the sitting room on the couch.

September came bringing with it a greater quantity of rumours at the hospital regarding a disease killing Navy personnel. Despite almost nine months passing since the first few sentenced article I had seen in a medical journal, little was known about the source of the disease, except that perhaps it was brought over from the trenches of Europe. Worse still, there were speculations that the disease that had killed some in the beginning of the year and into the spring had reappeared.

I had always known that Miss Platt's life was not meant to be as long as mine, but the thought that she might leave me after these few months was deplorable. I considered asking her to delay working again, but once she began her position at the girls' school she seemed happier and more content in herself. I simply could not take away this happiness that she had found. To keep my sanity I forced myself to not consider even the possibility. Nevertheless, she caught my nervousness a few days after I had heard the news, while I walked her to her work, as was our routine on the mornings that the sun permitted.

"Spill, my husband," she commanded.

Smiling grimly I told her, "There is a terrible sickness in New London with the Navy men, and I am concerned for your health."

She stopped mid stride and turned towards me. "What are the chances of it coming all the way up here?"

"Given that the military men might be the carriers and how it is transmitted is not yet know, slight to decent," I estimated.

Her eyes narrowed. "I am guessing that margin is too much for you."

"Yes," I divulged guiltily. "I detest the idea of you getting ill, Mrs. Cullen."

"I see," she replied. After a few moments thoughts she started walking again. "What can I do to relieve your fears?"

"What would your thoughts be about wearing a surgical mask?" I asked fastidiously.

"If that will calm your mind, then I will suffer through the jest my students are bound to say," she said in her light banter.

"You could always say you have a delicate disposition and are easily ill," I bantered back.

"Oh, yes, I can see how my principal would love that," she deadpanned.

"Would you really do this for me, Mrs. Cullen?" I asked my voice filling with the gratitude I felt. Her willingness deepened my appreciation for her in a way that I had never felt before.

"Yes," she answered seriously. "I would do almost anything for you, Dr. Cullen." Then a second later added, "Assuming it was reasonable."

I smiled. "Then I must be being reasonable."

"Naturally," she replied a grin growing across her face.

"I will pick up a pack today and have them in the house by the foyer. They would be most efficient if you wore them anytime you were outside of the home, and upon returning put into a separate receptacle until sterilised and dried."

She sighed. "Yes, I will do this for you, Dr. Cullen. Good thing I am your wife." She sighed again.

Unfortunately, I could not ask about her mood as we were near the school. I gave her a peck on the cheek and hurried to the supply store becoming aware that I had inadvertently added another chore to her life.

On occasion I also picked her up from work, and that afternoon was a time when I was able to do so. As soon as she came near me, I handed her a mask.

She smiled indulgently at me, placed it around her face, tied the two ends, and then whispered, "You sure know how to woo a woman, Dr. Cullen."

Smiling grimly, I told her earnestly, "As long as you remain healthy."

"Is my well-being more valuable than others?" she asked obviously wishing to distract me from my concerns by starting a philosophical discussion.

Not in the mood to retort, I instead answered simply, "To me."

We walked in silence the rest of the way home our thoughts heavy.

After we had entered the house and she had removed of her mask placing it in a bin I had also acquired, I asked, "Should I seek out a laundry service?"

She stiffened slightly then quickly relaxed and turned to me, "Thank you for the offer. However, that is quite unnecessary."

Nodding in acquiesce, I offered to aid her applying and removing her mask when possible.

Smiling she teased, "Trying to find other ways to assist me?"

"Naturally," I replied smiling in return.

When I was gathering the last of my things before leaving for the hospital, she came and found me.

She looked quite concerned as she asked demurely, "Does your infection make you more inclined to fall ill?"

Looking up at her, I considered how to answer. After a few seconds, I decided on honesty, "Actually no. The infection I have, assuming the person survives it, make the individual all but impervious to other disease."

Her features immediately relaxed. "Even with you at the hospital caring for the sick?"

I stepped towards her and took her hands in mine. "Yes, even. I will wear a mask, but yes."

She tilted her head to the side. "Is that in part why the years do not show on you like others?"

"Yes," I admitted and then waited on edge.

She let out a breath through her teeth. "Okay then. Be safe nonetheless. If I am not allowed to take risks, then neither are you," she insisted and then kissed my cheek.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Cullen, but I agree to your terms," I relented with a grin spread across my face.

She nodded sharply and then turned going to the kitchen to prepare her meal, no doubt.

Giggling internally all the way to the hospital, I decided that Miss Platt was the most perfect woman. The relief I felt in her conclusions to my appearance was exceptional. Leading her to incorrect answers by way of some truth seemed dishonourable in some way, but the intensity of my alleviation reminded me that it had been the right thing to do.

Coming towards the end of October with the death rate rising at an exponential rate, Hartford had begun to take measures across the city and her mask was no longer ridiculed.

On one of our walks from her employment I told Miss Platt offhandedly as a distraction from the gloom the sickness had brought, "There seems to be quite a bit of gossip about us."

Her look was puzzled. "No doubt," she agreed.

"Any guesses what they say?" I asked inquisitively.

"That I should be home, probably. Wondering when I shall become pregnant is also likely. Not including your powers to predict the future," she said with a sly smile, "we have chosen to live unconventionally. It is bound to cause a stir."

"Many women work," I pointed out.

"Not doctor's wives," she countered.

"Yes, I suppose that is true," I agreed feeling defeated. How had I not considered how she would be judged because she was a doctor's wife? "Do you want to be involved in the work of the doctor's wives?" I asked wanting to solve this problem for her, not even knowing if there even was one. I had a hard time knowing with her.

"What do they usually do?" she inquired casually.

"Fundraisers and things I believe," I told her uncertain myself. It was not a topic I paid much mind to.

"Do you want me to?" she asked nervously.

"I want you to be happy," I said attempting to reassure her.

She paused thinking, "Well, if I could do the work while you are at the hospital, it might be a nice way to make friends."

Smiling at her, I agreed. "I will mention it to one of the other doctors whose wife does those types of things."

She smiled back at me. "Good."

We walked the rest of the way home in silence.

After assisting each other with removal of our coats, hats, gloves, as had continued to be our custom since our first evening, and presently masks, she stood in front of me with a serious look. "Carlisle, I want an honest answer," she all but commanded me. "How good is your hearing?"

"Really good," I told her slightly embarrassed at my faux pas.

"Be more specific," she demanded still appearing cross. "Can you hear our neighbours?"

"Yes," I answered softly.

She pressed her lips together. "Our neighbours' neighbours?"

"Yes," I answered even more softly.

Her lips were in a thin line. "Beyond them?"

"Yes," I whispered.

Her scowl increased. "Clearly?"

"The closer the more clearly till there is sound, but it is not clear," I divulged.

"So, when you say there is gossip about us it is because you have heard it?" she accused me.

"Yes," I told her point-blank.

"Why did you ask me, then?" she countered.

"Because I was worried that it was bothering you," I attempted to explain. "Our conversation implied that it does not. It does not bother me. Gossip is something I have had to live with, but I had not thought to warn you previously about it. I was worried. I am no longer."

"I see," she said seriously but she looked like she was beaming from happiness. "You truly care about me?"

"More than I can ever express my dear Miss Platt," I insisted.

She looked at me seriously. "I will try to be a doctor's wife and join with the other woman, but I will not sacrifice my work to do so, and if they are a bunch of busybodies then I will decline."

"That seems more than fair to me," I agreed easily as her conditions seemed very reasonable.

She nodded her head, turned her heels, and then went to the kitchen leaving me with a slightly pleased but confused look on my face. I had no idea what had transpired, but something important to her I would say by her behaviour. We spent the night on the sofa in the sitting room as if the whole thing had never happened.

It was odd how she bought my misdirection in so many ways, while noticed little qualities that hinted at my inhumanity so astutely. It often made me concerned that she was not as duped as I believed. Yet, there was nothing else to indicate that she was suspicious of my nature. It was not like I had not been aware from the very beginning when I offered to court her that there was a chance she would discover my nature on her own, despite my precautions. And certainly I had tried, without spilling secrets, to warn her of the costs of such a discovery. She had seemed to want me despite my warnings. Yet, at these moments I fervently prayed that she would never come to discover the truth or regret her choice.

As a result of our conversation about her role as a doctor's wife, the next time I knew Dr. Halstead was in the hospital when I worked, I tracked him down, since we did not work in the same department and rarely crossed each other's paths.

"Dr. Cullen," he greeted me. "What honour do I have for you to bestow your presence here?"

Pleased at his jovial mood I told him, "I was wondering if you could do me a favour, Dr. Halstead."

"What is it?" he inquired curiously.

"As you probably know, I am newly married and my wife moved here from the middle west. I heard that your wife heads the committee for doctors' wives, and I was wondering if she would be willing to include my Esme?" I asked and then thought to add, "The only thing is that until such time as we have children, Esme will continue her work as a teacher, but she is free in the evenings."

He smiled broadly and clapped me on the shoulder. "A modern woman, huh Carlisle?" he teased. "Somehow that seems to suit you. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way. I will relay your request to my Loraine when I next see her."

"Thank you, Dr. Halstead, I appreciate it."

"Nonsense." As he walked away down the hall he added, "beware of what you wish for, our women might become thick as thieves and then we would have a real problem on our hands."

Smiling cordially at him, I replied, "Yes, sir, we would." Hopefully my wife would make a friend.

I returned home early enough to walk Miss Platt to her work. While doing so, I also let her know that I had spoken with Dr. Halstead. "I hope that keeping my secrets will not cause making friends more difficult for you," I told her a block from the school.

"It will only add more mystery and woman love a bit of mystery," she told me as her parting words.

Whether she was speaking about herself, women in general, or the topic we had been on I did not know.

A little more than a week passed when she informed me while escorting her to work, "Mrs. Halstead came by yesterday evening. We had a good chat and I agreed to assist her in the Christmas banquet and silent auction to raise money for new equipment. Evidently it is still going ahead despite things, although it appears that we all will be donning masks." Her nose crinkled adorably.

Although I had suspected as much given the unfamiliar scent with a hint of Dr. Halstead that had greeted me upon my arrival home, I was glad she was telling me at her first opportunity.

"You sound pleased," I observed.

"I am hopeful at the possibility of having some female acquaintances. You are good company, Dr. Cullen, but lacking in some departments," she teased.

I chuckled at her. "Yes, I am certain that is true."

She lowered her voice to below a whisper. "Do you have any male acquaintances?"

"A few. We rarely see one another," I informed her, adding, "Mostly I have colleagues."

"It is because they are in the medical field that you are cautious?" she breathed.

"Mostly, yes." Then I grinned at her. "My dear, Mrs. Cullen, are you testing my hearing?"

She looked away, but spoke conspiratorially. "You know, I knew you have good hearing from when I was sixteen. Do you remember your first visit? It was my conclusion on how you knew the nurse was approaching."

"You are a dangerous creature," I informed her.

"Not to mention magical, and proud of it, Dr. Cullen, so you just mind yourself." The playful tone in her voice was delightful.

I moved away from her slightly and bowed at her.

She giggled at my antics.

"Have a good day my love."

"You as well," she spoke as she parted.

As I walked home, I reviewed that first interaction. She was right. I had given myself away. I would have to be mindful that I did not do so again. No doubt her powers of observation had only increased. It was also a great relief that she had not discovered something new about me, but merely had found the courage to confirm what I had revealed accidentally.

Fortunately, the next weeks passed in a rhythm that seemed to suit us both, her nearness to uncovering my secret became forgotten. She did things for the hospital and taught during the day while I worked. My habit of going in early and leaving late had stopped since our marriage, but I also tried to have the weekends free as much as I could. Since our conversation after the tickling debacle, we read together on the couch with her feet in my lap more frequently. I had begun small chaste kisses to remind her of my affection. Assisting her with her clothes was still fraught with peril for me, but it was becoming more manageable.

It was the beginning of November when Esme placed her feet upon me in such a way that the robe opened up to show a negligee that only went to her knees, and although mostly silk, the bottom had lace. I stared at her leg yearning to caress it.

"You know, Dr. Cullen, you have seen that particular part of my anatomy before. You have even touched it before," she informed me as if we were discussing the weather.

I looked into her face to see her grinning in triumph.

"Yes, I suppose I have," was all that I could muster to say.

"It is all right," she whispered.

Gingerly and with great care I ran my hands up her foot along her shin and to her knee, around to the back and down her calf. My pants wanted to burst. How many times had I imagined this part of her in my hands, not in a medical capacity, but just like this? I put my book aside, and taking two hands, explored every aspect of her right leg. Then she moved so that the right was on bottom giving me access to her left leg. When I looked up to examine her, she appeared to be in blissful contentment. Her heart beat in the manner to which was calm for her. If it were not for her arousal filling the air, I would have thought my ministrations were having no impact on her other than relaxing her.

After my exploration and categorization of every aspect of this part of her body, I put her left leg into my lap and pressed her calf muscle with slightly more pressure, attempting to create the muscle massage that I had read about in one of my journals. The results were fascinating, the muscle, tendons, vessel, capillaries all moved with my touch. As I moved my fingers and thumbs more, I could feel the muscle tighten and then relax. Within thirty minutes the muscle was less taut then it had been. I could see a real benefit for this type of medicine in the future.

"Your other leg please," I stated.

She obliged me. I repeated the same motions on the other leg. When I completed it I asked her, "What is your evaluation?"

She chuckled. "Only you, Dr. Cullen, could make a science experiment out of touching your wife." Her cheeky smiled suggested that she was jesting with me in some way.

Any retort that came to mind dismissed the generosity of her allowing me to touch her or made suggestions into more intimate things that I wished not to say.

Finally she continued, "The process itself was a little tender and perhaps even sore, but the result was worth the effort to get there. I do not suppose that one day I could convince you to do that to my neck and shoulders?" Then she winked suggestively at me.

I gulped and stared at her with my mouth slightly open.

"Perhaps some time in the future, then," she stated and went back to her book.

I went back to reading while my left hand moved along her feet and legs from her toes to the tops of her knees. The top part required my hand to slide slightly between her skin and lace, which created the most fantastic sensation of the different textures. My mind could not see the letters in front of me. Instead, it was completely engrossed in how I might be able to fulfil her suggestion without hurting her.

The calf was a large muscle. The article had suggested that the build up of fluids within the muscle might add to muscle soreness. And in fact I had felt a fluid being moved around during my ministrations. The neck and shoulders were a different story altogether, and although I was competent in my capacity to touch with a feather's grace, how much more pressure needed to create the release of the fluids like how I had been able to do in her calf was a mystery. It was a challenging endeavour, but one that I was willing to figure out, even if it took some trial and error.

"Would you be willing for me to experiment with your calves first?" I inquired. "I will do the same every couple of days increasing pressure and you informing me of the results?"

She put her readings down and grinned broadly at me. "Only if you add my feet to your experiment."

"Done," I agreed easily.

"Does that mean you are taking me up on my offer?" she questioned her tone in slight disbelief.

"Perhaps," I teased and then winked at her.

"And you say I'm dangerous," she muttered under her breath.

Thus began something new between us. About twice a week I would set down my readings and focus on her muscles. I learned that her feet, with much more fragile bones, tendons, and ligaments could take more pressure than her calves. It was a perfect activity between us. It allowed her to be touched and tension to be removed from her body, while it allowed me to do something for her that displayed my care and affection for her without any danger from my venom. Additionally, it was something that brought us closer together, which did not risk my control like the tickling had.

* * *

 _A/N: I have to admit that this chapter is my favourite in the story, and the line about him already touching that part of her anatomy dear to my heart, as each time I read it I find myself giggling. Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I so enjoy Esme's light banter and how she makes Carlisle squirm here. She's so very sweet and it's with positive motives, but she really is stretching him._

 _I hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as me._

 _Thank you again for your support. It means the world to me. With anticipation I await your thoughts._


	12. Rough Waters

**Chapter 12: Rough Waters**

* * *

November left us and with it the ending of the Great War. Unfortunately that did not equal the ending of deaths at the hospital. The disease continued to bring in waves of people to the point that the sick were in chairs, the floor, anywhere, and everywhere. Some survived what it did to the body, but many did not. Esme was more understanding than any woman should be when I would not come home for days on end. She knew the hospital was short staffed and that I struggled to be home when the need was so great. Our compromise was to pay the price to have a telephone installed in our home. Esme was disgruntled regarding the amount, but she could not argue that it would soothe both of our nerves. Whether I came home or not, she attended services at the church where we had been married each Sunday. Those days she seemed unusually withdrawn, but it would not last.

A week before Christmas she was fussing over me, reminding me once more about the planned ball that the doctors' wives committee had put together. I said nothing about her fretting, never letting on that such reminders were unnecessary, as I found her needing to do so endearing. She had purchased a new dress for herself and chosen one of my tuxedos with tails for the evening.

Beginning to tie up her corset, my fingers lingered on her skin, as I found myself amazed at the reality before me in comparison to all the Christmases past since my change.

Overcome with emotion I was unable to hide my awe while telling her, "You are exquisite my wife."

"Well, thank you," she replied her tone sounding like she was distracted by her own thoughts. She paused her body language indicating that she wanted to speak about something, but was nervous. Staying quiet I waited until she spoke. She started off by saying, "You know that for the war effort they asked all corsets to be turned in. They have been for about a year now."

"Yes, I am aware," I told her pushing aside my own emotions and becoming attentive of her.

The meaning of her bringing up this topic was lost on me, so decided to take longer than usual to give her the time to speak her mind.

"I have not purchased any new ones since the wedding," she told with a twinge in her voice indicating that she was nervous, "but that one was purchased before the government asked for them."

Saying nothing, I wondered what was the purpose of her line of thought.

"I do not know if I have ever conveyed to you my sentiments about them, but the truth is that I have not been very fond of them over the years. I had to wear them at school, but at the farmhouse it was impractical," she informed me with a shyness expected of such a topic. "And well here certain standards are expected of me, so I have not donated them yet."

"That is expected," I commented when she paused hoping to encourage her to continue.

It took her a few deep breaths and exhales before she informed me, "That is to say that I would rather not wear them and most of the other teachers do not now." Then after a meaningful pause she divulged, "I only do for your sake."

Surprised at her confession, I questioned, "You do?"

Her voice quieting even more she shyly disclosed, "Yes, you see, I so enjoy having you take them on and off me, that I am amiss to give them up, but …"

"But?" I pressed after many minutes had passed my fingers lingering on her garments and skin.

"Perhaps we could find other ways for you to help me dress and undress? I would not want to give up the one I wore on the wedding, as I desire to keep it for special occasions, but perhaps the other ones?"

"What are you asking me, Esme?" I had to inquire of her completely confused at what she was trying to get at.

Letting go of her as she turned around, she faced me gazing into my eyes. "There is something sweet and intimate about these moments with you as I get dressed and undressed. I do not want to lose them."

"And you are afraid you will?" I checked.

"Yes," she admitted.

"There are always the buttons on the dresses and certainly the new undergarments will be cumbersome in their own way?" I suggested.

Her smile lit the room. She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "Thank you for understanding. After tonight I shall give them all but the wedding one away."

"As you wish," I told her.

"You really do not mind?" she confirmed.

"They were not in style where I come from and anyway, I am particular to the farm girl look you wear so well, although I do have to say that you out did yourself with this dress."

She turned back around and I finished up her undergarment and then the dress buttons.

Returning to face me, she looked at me once more. "How do you always have the words I need to hear?"

"I do not know my sweet," I confessed befuddled myself at the turn of the conversation.

She pecked me on the lips. "Fine then get out, so I can finish up."

"Yes, Miss Platt," I agreed bowing slightly with a playful smile on my lips. "I will be downstairs waiting for you."

"Fine," she agreed, and then pushed me out her door.

We had been married eight months and although I was more accustomed to her scent and changes through the month its allure had only intensified as time had gone by. Like just moments before, the longer we had been together the more affectionate she had been and she seemed to find new ways to undo me. She carried herself with nobility, but was still the country girl who climbed trees at heart. Her talk about her corsets was a new one. Practically, as a scientist, I disagreed with their use and would be glad to see her get rid of them, but I could not help but wonder what she looked like in her hosiery and corset without the dress. I could only imagine, but the image was enough for me to be tortured by the wedding one she had insisted that she wanted to keep.

When she came gliding down the stairs in her deep green velvet dress I swore she was an angel. The fabric was one that invited my touch, and I could not help but run my hands along her arms while helping her into her coat.

"Is it the velvet?" she asked sounding smug.

"Mmmm, yes, it is very nice," I answered.

Chuckling she whispered, "I shall have to wear it again, then."

Looking over at her, my eyes grew large. "Please, Esme," I croaked out. "I might not be able to contain myself if you did that," I threatened her.

"You? Dr. Cullen who has been able to resist your wife for eight months now? Nothing more than idle threats. Perhaps you could help take it off me tonight?" She stared at me daring me with that vulnerability just behind her brazenness that had shown itself the first time she dared give me a chaste goodbye kiss.

"It would be my honour," I told her and kissed her knuckles once more unwilling to go against the vulnerability she was showing.

She smiled demurely. "Thank you," she breathed.

I kissed the spot right under her ear.

Her smile widened. "A new spot I see. You are getting brave, Dr. Cullen."

"You give me strength, my darling Miss Platt," I retorted.

"No more than you give me," she insisted.

The coach was a block away.

"Transportation is nearly here?" she asked.

I looked at her surprised.

"You are an easy read once you learn the signs," she told me as she rearranged her features into the polite society woman she presented herself to be outside of our home.

Watching her shift made it abundantly clear how well she had been educated in the expectations of being a rich man's wife. Certainly, these lessons made our present arrangement easier, as others assumed, given her behaviour, that she too had come from a wealthy family. It also meant that the tree-climbing farm girl version of her was something for my eyes only. They also spoke to her changing nature. Witnessing her growth and maturation was a beautiful thing, yet the awareness of how much the years had altered her had led my mind to the eventual conclusion that one day she would no longer be on this earth. Pushing these dark thoughts aside, I reminded myself once more to focus on the present and the gifts of today. Leading her out the door, my face took on the polite but approachable characteristics I wore in public. As the buggy pulled up, it made sense that Miss Platt and I were the same in this way. There were parts of me only she saw. Hopefully, what she had just said fit into that category. Helping her into the buggy, I prayed that was the case, but realized, nonetheless, it was an excellent reminder of my need to be more careful about my non-human abilities around her.

Once we arrived, the hall was almost exactly as she had described it to me. She went and played the hostess coming back to me at key moments so that I might introduce her to my colleagues, or so that she might introduce me to other members of the committee. She convinced donors to open their pocketbooks and charmed her way through the room. Just like at the wedding she was my perfect excuse to decline dancing. Instead, I spent my time assisting her in convincing the non-hospital attendees to donate their money.

Almost at the end of the evening, while I had been speaking to a doctor from another department, she came upon me. After introductions she commented abruptly, "I promised you a waltz."

"You did," I told her unsure of why this was the moment she wanted to dance.

"Excuse us," I told Dr. Costigan with a slight smile.

"Of course," he allowed smiling. "Your wife has a lovely idea. I shall join you both on the dance floor." Then he went off no doubt looking for his wife.

Leading her to the dance floor, we waited the few minutes until the song changed and then entered the dance space.

"Other than giving you time with your friends and mother, this is the only reason I desired a reception," I admitted.

"To dance?" she checked.

"With you, yes," I confirmed, "but I ended up only getting the one dance. Thank you for remembering my request that we dance together tonight."

"Always, my husband, you are my priority," she insisted with a tone that indicated a hinting at something else.

At the end of the next song, she looked around and when she had verified for herself that whatever she was looking for was not there we came off the dance floor, and we began to speak with the other couples again. About an hour later they announced the winners of the auction and people began to leave.

"Are you ready to depart?" I asked her when it appeared that most of her conversations had ended.

"Yes," she said to me, but her eyes were on the crowd.

"Then I will get the coats," I told her wishing she would fill me in with whatever was keeping her attention.

"Good," she told me giving me her full focus for a few seconds. "I will say my goodbyes to Mrs. Halstead."

"I will meet you in the lobby then," I informed her.

"Yes," she answered her attention diverted once more.

I walked towards the coatroom, but after turning the corner stood listening, my curiosity regarding her behaviour getting the better of me.

She found Mrs. Halstead and said her goodbyes. As her footsteps retreated, a man approached her. "There you are, my sweet. I never did get that dance."

Instantly the answers to my questions and concerns regarding her behaviour crashed into me. She had used me to stop from dancing with others, just as I had used her. Even though I was glad she only wished to dance with me, her need to use me as a cover when she was clearly a married woman was upsetting. Walking quickly to the coatroom, I retrieved our belongings berating myself for not getting them first.

"I told you Mr. Griswold that the only dance I would have was with my husband, Dr. Cullen," she stated with strain in her voice and what sounded like a forced smile. "Perhaps you know him?"

Her handling of him calmed much of my ire. I took in a deep breath and then another cataloguing all the information that came to me, while taking long strides towards where she was standing.

"There you are my wife," I called out.

She looked apprehensive and relieved, but smiled through it. "Mr. Griswold of the Griswold holdings may I present my husband, Dr. Carlisle Cullen," she stated once I was within a few feet.

He put out his hand and I gripped it a little stronger than would be my custom and held eye contact in a manner intended to be slightly intimidating.

"Well, let us get you home, darling," I cooed helping her into her jacket. "Nice to meet you," I told him through gritted teeth.

We were about a mile from the hotel when Esme started giggling and her giggles turned to chuckles and her chuckles to laughs and her laughs to full belly guffaws where she was struggling to breathe.

"Whatever is the matter?" I asked her wondering if she was going into hysterics.

She would manage no more than a syllable or two before her laughing would over take her again.

Staring at her worried, I began counting her heart rate, breathing rate, and taking in her scent deeply in order to discern if there was anything amiss with her. We were nearly home by the time she had calmed down enough to speak.

"I have never seen you act in such a way, Carlisle. Were you jealous?" she asked between her chuckles.

Frowning I told her, "No, I simply did not like how that man treated you. As your husband, it is my responsibility and right to defend your honour."

"Carlisle, this is not the 17th century," she informed me through giggles. "Men no longer dual each other to defend their woman's honour."

My defensive posture lessened, but concern that I had given away my true age rushed through me.

Watching her carefully that she was not making some mental connection, I apologized, "You are right. I forgot myself. Please forgive me."

She leaned over and kissed my cheek speaking softly into my ear, "It was highly attractive." Leaning back she added, "Nevertheless, thank you."

"Always," I assured her, trying to keep myself together.

After tipping the driver, I led Esme into the house and removed her hat, then coat hanging hers and mine. Subsequently, she took my hand. "Come my brave gentleman and knight."

Any lingering worries dissipated with her words, as they seemed to convey that her connection to the time period in which I had been born had been metaphorical instead of literal.

Allowing her to lead the way, we entered her bedroom.

Staring into my eyes she commanded me, "Feel the fabric, Carlisle. Touch me in this way. I am all but covered and know that I am your wife. No one else comes close to you."

Examining her intently, I stepped forward my whole body begging for what she was offering. There was a primal need within me to claim her as mine, and although I could not follow through with what my body wished to take, her suggestion was a fair one. One by one I took the pins out of her hair and allowed her hair to cascade over her shoulders and down her back. Even this simple act was soothing. No one touched her like this except me.

Pausing I admitted, "I do not like your need to defend yourself against such advances."

Smiling empathetically at me she stated, "Then it is good that I am well practiced. Rich men are accustomed to getting what they want irrelevant."

Frowning and remembering the coarseness of her classmates' words at the wedding reception there was no doubt she spoke the truth.

"Next time please tell me what is happening so I can better assist you," I requested.

"Only if you will do the same," she retorted.

Smiling at her continued requirements that we be equal, I agreed easily.

Turning back to her, no more words were said. Starting with my hands on the side of her cheeks, I ran my palms down the sides of her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms, over her gloves, and back under her arms. How her body had warmed the fabric created a particularly pleasant sensation. Wanting to continue, I next slowly centimeter by centimeter traversed down her sides, over her waist, and then hips. At her legs, ensuring to keep fabric between my hands and her skin, I took each one starting by moving down the right and then up the left.

Desiring to enjoy more of the intimacy she was offering me, I asked softly, "May I remove your footwear?"

"Yes," she answered and took a few steps back until she was at her dressing table, and then sat into the seat.

I lifted her dress enough to unlace the right boot and then the left, gently pulling them off as I went. One leg at a time for brief seconds while my hands went under her skirt to her knees there was the feeling the hosiery under my hands and the dress pressed up the tops of my knuckles. Once complete I stepped back standing up and taking her hand pulled her to stand with me. Taking her right hand, I gently removed her glove and then gave my attention to the left. Once they were on the table, I moved my hands back up her arms and around the back of her neck and into her hair. I pressed my fingers lightly into her skull and down the back of her neck.

She turned around in an automatic movement, as this was something we had done multiple times prior, and lifted her hair out of the way.

Slowly, one by one, stroking the fabric and then the corset my fingers unfastened each button until I made it to the last one. Next, I focused on undoing the knots and loosening the ribbons on her corset. She turned around and as if in slow motion, her dress fell off her shoulders and onto the floor. In front of me she stood in her corset that was loosened enough that she was no longer being held in, but it still covered all her essential bits. Yet, it clung to the body so that her shape was obvious. The silk hosiery that I had felt came up to clips on the sides of the corset. Even with the one to two inches of lace peeking out from under the corset, there was still at least three inches of bare skin showing from her upper thighs.

I was immobilized.

She was more alluring, more desirable, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. Her arousal began to fill the air and she became flush.

She took a tiny step forward. "Carlisle, are you all right?" she asked concerned while stepping towards me a small bit once more.

"Please, stop," I croaked out only barely moving my lips.

She looked disappointed, but understanding while she leant down and used the dress to cover herself once more.

"Better?" she asked with her eyes watering.

Closing my eyes, I ceased breathing and desperately tried to remove the image that would be forever burned into my mind. How I wanted her. She was my wife and she was offering me the permission to touch her. She was my siren calling me to her. The smell of tears increased and I opened my eyes.

"Oh, please, do not cry, Esme," I begged her.

"I frightened you," she pointed out clearly upset with herself.

"Yes," I confirmed and then tried to explain, "I did not expect you to do such a thing, and you are more magnificent to behold than my imagination gave you justice."

"You turned to stone, Carlisle," she pressed.

"I was in shock," I told her in a lame attempt to justify my reaction. "It was the most precious gift you could have given me. Thank you."

"You are welcome." She wiped her eyes. "I did not upset you?"

"Quite the contrary," I admitted.

"Did you want to run?" she asked me quietly.

"Yes," I admitted, "but I remembered how much it upset you last time."

She smiled slightly. "Thank you for staying."

Nodding in acknowledgement while knowing that I needed to assure her by some action, I asked, "May I give you a gift?"

Her eyes opened a little wider. "What were you thinking?"

"To give you that muscle massage on your neck and shoulders that you asked for," I offered ensuring my tone conveyed her right to refuse. "I believe myself ready."

"All right," she agreed easily before asking, "Where shall I sit?"

Judging the space and options I told her, "Here," and led her to her dressing table seat. "Can you take down your dress just enough so that it sits on your arms and at the top of the corset?"

"Certainly, Dr. Cullen," she replied sounding delighted.

Smiling at her playful banter, as it told me that my freezing had not offended her, I let her know, "It might be easier if your hair was up."

In silence she put it into a bun, and then took a bone pick to hold it in place.

The massage itself turned out to be easier than I expected. The practice on her feet and legs allowed my fingers to know how to move and manipulate the muscles effectively. A few times I stopped, as my eyes had drifted to looking over her and down her corset. My desire to run my tongue along the spaces my eyes travelled grew with each glimpse. Nevertheless, I would scold myself and focus on what my hands were meant to be doing once more. When I got to the end she seemed very relaxed and surprisingly her scent indicated an even deeper note of arousal than before.

I desperately craved to increase our proximity, even given that doing so might move us towards folly. Out of everything my mind conjured, I requested what seemed to be the safest, "Before I take my leave might I have your permission to run my nose along your collarbone from your neck to your arm?"

"Yes," she answered me while straightening up her voice sounding slightly wobbly.

I started at her neck placing my lips on the right side of her throat and then gently ran my nose slowly towards her arm taking in her scent but also the moisture radiating off of her skin into my lungs. It felt entirely intimate to have her within me in this way. After completing one pass I did her left side. "Thank you," I told her moving my body into an upright state. "I will leave you to freshen yourself."

"Anytime you want to do that again, Carlisle, you are more than welcome," she insisted sounding tipsy, despite having no alcohol in her system. Then, after a moment's pause added sounding slightly more sober, "It was the most perfect gift. Thank you."

"You are welcome. I will meet you in the sitting room when you are ready," I informed her.

"Alright," she answered sounding content.

With the image of her only in her undergarments burned behind eyelids the sounds of her bathing were particularly difficult to manage. Afterwards, she came down and reached out her hand instead of joining me or even kissing me goodnight on my cheek like she usually did. I put my hand in hers and allowed her to lead me to her room. She got into bed and patted next to her. "Come, lay next to me, and tell me a story."

This was one of those vulnerable moments again where I could not bear to say no to her, so obliged her. She turned to her side away from me, and I ran my hand down her hair while telling her of studying scientific classes in Paris, leaving out anything that would give my nature and my age away. Once she was asleep, I still could not find it within myself to leave.

A knowing came upon me. Magical things happened when I allowed Esme to lead. Despite my hesitancies each time she had said yes, I would not trade the moments we had shared for anything, even if it meant pain from grief in the future. Who knows what my life would have looked like if I had not chosen the right path on the way to her home, or if I would have chosen not to give her the choice for us to court? They had both been actions that followed the dictates of my heart rather than what had been rational. Each time I had leaped where my heart had wanted and then let Esme lead me. What that meant for our future was still uncertain, but I would not trade it in for anything.

Removing myself from Esme's bed and leaving her room, my mind was full. Settling into my study in continuation of my pattern, as if the space between us had not been fundamentally altered, I prepared my mind in expectation that she would keep pushing our limits. Surprisingly, as the days passed, she did not. In fact, the opposite seemed to be the case. The closer Christmas came the less physical contact she gave and searched out. She read in the sitting room less and less, choosing instead to be in her room with the door closed or in my study sitting in one of the chairs. Our conversations about current events continued when I was afforded the opportunity to walk her to and from work, but the words between us continued to decrease as the time passed. Even the small subtle movements I had become attuned to indicating that she needed touch were not apparent. I did not know what to make of these changes.

Even if her behaviour made what happened between us as if it had never existed, the images of her in her undergarments as well as the memory of her flesh under my hands would not leave me. Thus, it seemed the more she withdrew the more I took to paying attention to the smallest of her movements. She did stop wearing corsets, but I still assisted in securing her attire. Sadly, even in those intimate moments she seemed to lack the reaction and responses I had come to expect.

Christmas came and went in a subdued manner. Except for attending service on Christmas Eve and exchange of small trinkets (I got her a new easel and paint which she claimed to adore and she got me a book on modern etiquette that caused me to laugh), we spent the season mostly reading together or enjoying walks around town. I suspected that Esme was missing her mother and grieving the loss of her father. She said nothing on the matter and I did not inquire, as she presented no indication that she wanted support or sympathy.

For the first New Years Eve since working at hospitals I did not work and instead, upon her insistence, we went to an event put on by the hospital. She stayed by my side and, although was very kind and cordial to all, seemed unusually melancholy barely even smiling the few times we danced. It was officially the first of the new year by the time the buggy dropped off at home. The silence on this topic had become intolerable to me. I did not want to start 1919 in this way. More importantly, watching others suffer was one thing, as often there was nothing humanly possible to do, but standing by simply observing her continuously decline was no longer bearable.

As soon as we removed our outer garments and had placed them in their proper places, I asked her, "What is it, love?"

Walking towards the sitting room effectively turning her back to me, she hedges speaker softly, "I do not wish to sound ungrateful."

"Speak your mind my love, and I will remember you are grateful despite your words," I told her following.

She sighed and sat down on the sofa slowly as if her very essence was considering her words.

"It dawned on me recently that we would never have the elements of the season that children bring with it." Her eyes stared at something in the far distance, although her head was in the direction of the windows. "In my mind, when I imagine Christmas there are always children and children's laughter. Even though I was my parent's only child, there were cousins and neighbours. These last two Christmases that I spent at my family home it never occurred to me that these sounds and smells and events would cease to be a part of my life."

She paused and even though I considered correcting her assumption about siblings, knew this was not the time or place. Thus, I said nothing waiting to see if she had more to say.

Eventually she continued, "You live such a different life than I have experienced. It is not farm life and all of its hard toil. It is not being at college with its intellectual pursuits. It is not just that we do not have children, but that apart from my students, there are no children in my life, none to dote on and spoil. There are no young tree climbers for me to admire, or gawky boys attempting to learn to be gentlemen and how to handle a farm. There is no gathering of the town in church on Sunday surrounded by mothers I have known my whole life reminding their children to be careful in their Sunday best. All of that is gone, and I very likely will never have that or anything like it again." By the end a few tears were rolling down her face.

When it seemed that she had nothing more to say I eyed her speculatively.

"Are you regretting your choice?" I asked hesitantly.

Her eyes quickly turned to me looking like she was cross at me. "What did I say?"

I put up my hands in defeat. "Just checking, dear."

She sighed heavily again her eyes finding her hands. "No, there is no regret. The quiet is not bad, per say, but is also nothing like I could have imagined. Even at college there were other people, and we would gather together. Here there is none of that casualness, except between us. Then, there is simply the lack of noise. It is most surprising. But make no mistake different or not, you are worth it. And I am grateful for the things we have. It is simply the difference between the understanding of something and the knowing of something. I understood my choice, but I am beginning to know it in a deeper way. "

I looked at her sadly not knowing how to comfort her.

"You already understood this, did you not?" she accused.

"I had longer to experience the difference between my life and others. That is all," I attempted to explain.

"This is why you were so cautious? You were afraid that once I knew it, I would regret it?" she charged.

"Can you blame me for such a concern?" I asked attempting to deflect her anger.

After some ponderings she answered me softly, "No, I cannot, but rest assured, Carlisle Cullen, I am here to stay."

Smiling at her I told her, "I have no idea what I did to have you in my life, but you are the most incredible creature."

Her smile was sad, but she seemed moved by my words. "Can you do me a favour, Carlisle?"

"What is it?" I asked.

"May you read to me A Christmas Carol while I lay in your lap and you stroke my hair? It would be a great comfort to me."

"Yes of course," I told her. "Wait here. I will return." Going to my study I retrieved my first edition of the book and took a moment to collect myself.

She was upset, but she was not leaving. Somehow those two concepts could not be reconciled in my mind. I went over to my father's cross and thanked my Heavenly Father for giving me the courage and faith so that I might see this day. Then, I went back downstairs to my wife.

The next days before Esme returned to work were spent as she had requested. After a Christmas Carol I read to her Gulliver's Travels. She had taken to stroking my knee or thigh. The heat of her body would penetrate mine; the pulse of her veins would thump against my legs; and each time she moved she exposed to me some part of her skin that I had never had the opportunity to study closely before. In short she was driving me mad. I was equally glad for my centuries of practising my control as for her first day back to work. Directly after escorting her to the school, I ran in the forest and hunted. It was the longest I had gone in her presence without replenishing myself. The blood rejuvenated me and soothed my throat, as I knew it would, but did nothing to calm my desire to touch her more, as I had hoped.

Once she returned to work, I would only read to her in the evenings of my days off, which helped me keep myself in check. As the weeks progressed, I found myself needing to touch her more. I started while taking off and putting on her hats and gloves to allow my hands to linger on her scalp or arms. At almost every given opportunity I kissed her chastely on her hands or the spot I had found under her ear. A few times I even kissed her shoulder. It was like my hands needed her warmth.

Interestingly, the more I touched her and kissed her body the more her blues seemed to lift. She continued to dress modestly and keep her skin concealed, but that did not stop my light touches. I dare say it encouraged me, as it allowed me to feel safer in doing so. Other than her usual pecks, light touches to my shoulders or arms, and stroking of my legs and knee when I read to her, she did not seem to desire to touch me. Outwardly our pattern between us was good and we seemed to settle into something that worked for both of us.

These touches and movements between us, even the conversation, seemed to have changed something within me. Suddenly it dawned on me that work was no longer the most important thing in my life, seeing to her well-being and happiness was. No longer was the day punctuated by when work started and ended, but by when I saw Esme. Work became a distraction from my wife who was driving me mad with desire and a way to ground myself back into who I knew myself to be, but it was no longer my greatest concern. On days when my shift ended, she would be working, and I did not need blood, I frequented a church after my bench prayers and spoke to God.

Without doubt Esme's presence had expanded my faith, as I was way out of my depth. When I knew not what else to do, I prayed and reminded myself to stay in the moment. Ironically it seemed to work. As time went on, we appeared to grow closer to one another, despite our restrictions. Often when on my knees at church, I evaluated my previous beliefs related to Miss Platt. Truly, my resolve that she did not belong in my life seemed foolish and the fact that I had almost walked away from her entirely the stupidest thing I could have done.

A side benefit from having Esme in my life was that I felt more human, acted more human, and understood my co-workers and patients better. From a technical aspect, I had already been a good doctor and surgeon, but because of Esme I was becoming a good man. This gift, above all others, was precious. A part of me wanted to write Aro and share with him my blessings. If I had invited my friends to my wedding to celebrate with me Garrett, the Irish coven, Aro, and Demetri would have been at the top of my list. If Aro were not one of the three rulers of our world, I would have written him immediately, and although I had broken no law, something within me hesitated to tell any of my friends that I had taken on a human wife. I was not about to change their minds that humans were meant to be sustenance. Thus, they would perceive my choice in the same way a human would perceive another human marrying a cow. Certainly, if nothing else, I would be a laughing stock.

Despite knowing that if Aro ever saw my memories, he would think me utterly mad, I could not come to regret how things had transpired. I perceived myself moving even further away from my vampire nature and thus my vampire friends. It was a small price to pay, but a small part of me still wished that they could understand and share in my good fortune.

Just about when it seemed like life could not get any more wonderful, it came crashing down. In late January, Esme developed a cough. It did not have the accompanying fever and fluids in the lungs that had marked the deadly epidemic, but I refused for either of us to go to work until it cleared, even though that meant I had too much food uncomfortably sitting in my stomach. After the fourth day she was testy.

"Seriously Carlisle, you are going to let me out of this house, or so help me God," she threatened.

"Please, Esme," I begged.

"I have a cold, Dr. Cullen, a cold. There is no reason to live in fear of a cold," she pointed out.

"I know," I admitted softly. "I am being irrational."

"Yes," she agreed her voice softening.

"It is merely the thought of losing you," I confessed. "I saw too many people die coughing themselves into a grave. I do not want to entertain the thought."

"All right," she relented with a huff, "but as soon as this cough clears you are going to stop holding me prisoner."

Watching her wearily, I tried to decide if she was jesting with me. Eventually I concluded that I could not determine her sentiments.

"Do you really think that, Esme?" I asked scared of the answer.

After many long minutes she replied, "No, not truly. It is simply that I am not a sedentary person, and despite my love for books, I miss my classroom and my students. I am disliking things and grumpy because I am not getting my way." She paused a moment before continuing, "Sometimes I am not a good wife."

Walking closer to her, I held her eyes. "You are a fine wife. I am sorry for how my precautions irritate you. I simply am unwilling to risk you. I have seen too many dead these past months. I cannot seem to help being irrational. For that I am sorry."

She placed her hands on my cheeks. "I apologise for my strop. I will attempt to behave my age." Then she pouted.

Giggling at her I agreed, "That would be agreeable to me."

"Of course it would," she muttered under her breath and then looked at me sidewise realising too late that I could hear her perfectly well.

By the eighth day of my imposed isolation we both, for different reasons, needed fresh air. Apart from my thirst, she had seemed to be driving me to become dishonourable. Rationally, I had to admit to myself that the fact she was ovulating was not done purposefully, and probably her need for more affection as comfort was a combination of the time of the month and her lack of interaction with others, rather than a regular assault on my control. Nevertheless, the combination along with a closed house, and a lack of separation was driving me around the bend.

When I officially could not take it anymore and was inches close to accosting her suggested, "Esme, what if you wore a mask and we walked to the forest that is nearby. We can walk a little ways into it, you can sit and enjoy the view while I get in my hike."

She smiled slyly. "Are you admitting to also not being a sedentary person?"

Smiling at her I agreed, "Yes, I too regularly need fresh air, but I still want us to keep our distance from other people. Your cough is nearly gone, and thus you are nearly back to full health. We would not want to risk the progress we have made."

"No, we certainly cannot have that," she agreed in mockery.

Letting her comment slide I told her, "There is no path, so wear something you do not mind getting dirty and perhaps a bit ripped."

"What shall the neighbours say?" she jested.

"That we are eccentric and in need of children," I deadpanned.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Do they really say that?"

"Yes," I divulged.

"Well, then, in that case, might as well give them something to make their tongues wag," she determined stubbornly with an air of defiance.

Shaking my head, I went to change with her following after me.

She covered every part of herself using a scarf to hide her face over her mask. She really was good to me. We walked arm in arm into the forest. A little over a mile in, I found a spot that was decent for sitting and offered her some shelter.

"I shall leave you here, Esme," I told her. "Shall you be alright?"

She looked as if she was trying to uncover my meaning. "If I travel some, will you be able to find me?" she asked.

"Yes, simply please do not go too far or back near town," I requested.

She nodded. "Town is that way," she affirmed pointing from where we had come.

"You are correct," I agreed.

Looking at her once more, I turned to set out.

"Why can I not go with you?" she asked breathlessly.

"Your dress is not suitable for where I want to go, not to mention that I generally like to run, which would be inappropriate to ask you to do," I tried to explain.

"Fine, Carlisle, go run," she stated in agitation.

Her reaction was out of character for her and flummoxed me. My only guess was that she was nervous to be left alone in a forest unknown to her. Looking at her concerned, I was unsure of what to say.

After minutes had passed with me still with no answers, her continence softened. "I appreciate us coming out. You had told me how important hiking alone is for you in our courtship. I am not trying to force myself into your space. I apologise."

Taking her at her word and letting go of my remaining confusion, I told her earnestly, "Thank you," and kissed her cheek. Then I headed out in a brisk human pace until I was over two hundred yards from her, then broke out into a sprint. After travelling about ten miles I rid my body of the food that had sat there unbearably long, and sniffed the air for something to drink. I was upwind from a buck when my body moved at a frantic pace following instinctually the scent of blood that was in the air. Blessings be to the Heavens Above, I regained myself forcing my body to slow down. My head only slightly clearer I walked quickly towards my siren.

"You are hurt," I pointed out when close enough.

"Yeah, well, I sat down for a bit, and when I went to stand up I scratched myself," she admitted in a huff.

"Let me see, please," I asked her as I stepped closer putting out my hand so she would show me hers.

With her palm up she gently placed her hand in mine. She was right. It was a scratch. The wound was already clotting.

Warring with myself, I tried to determine how many more days I could go safely without hunting. It had already been over two weeks, the longest I had gone since we had wed. I did not want to risk her. At the same time, I did not want to leave her again and possibly me lose myself in a hunt and attack her.

"Let us return home," I told her reluctantly.

She nodded turning in the direction I was facing letting me lead. "Feel better?" she wanted to know.

"Somewhat," I told her. "I will be better when you are fully recovered."

She puffed her cheeks, but said nothing.

Once we were in the house she told me, "Thank you for taking me."

"You are welcome," I replied cordially.

For the next days I kept a close eye on my thirst. Of course I had smelled her blood before when she was sixteen, but the fragrance when she had bit her lip paled in comparison to the one in the woods. If I had believed God to have a cruel sense of humour, then I might have entertained the idea that her blood called to me. Certainly, there was no contesting that the years had only augmented it. For those next days any vein I saw on her, even on her hands or feet, was like the Pied Piper calling me. If she noticed the added distance I kept or my lack of touching her, she did not say.

While she slept I tried to puzzle out how come her scent had been particularly attractive recently. There were many factors including those due to her being ill, cutting herself while I had been in midst of a hunt, and simply lust. As much as I tried, it was challenging to separate out the lust for her touch, warmth, and carnal desires from the lusts that arose from her scent. The sensations within me were incredibly similar. The only marginal difference had been the discomfort in my throat becoming a constant sting when her scent called for me. Otherwise my body produced no discernible differentiation and my thoughts never contained any images of biting her, only of carnal acts. Irrelevant of any conclusions, it was impossible to refute my desires, none of which seemed to be in her best interests.

Primarily as a result of my struggles, I agreed for her to return to work earlier than was prudent, but I had determined that my presence had become a greater risk to her than the illness she had been fighting. As soon as I dropped her off at work, I hunted taking more blood than normal. After the first buck, some of the unease I had felt lessened. I was not usually a glutton, but my reaction to her blood had scared me.

* * *

 _A/N: A_ _s to clarify my thinking I'd like to explain some. I believe, based on cannon, that Rosalie was attracted to Emmett's blood (it drew her to him) and Carlisle would have been attracted to Esme's. As Carlisle is unaccustomed to reacting to the smell of human blood in the ways he does to Esme, Esme's lure confuses and upsets him, whereas Rosalie chalked it down to still being near her newborn years. Thus, his language here is intended to convey these feelings and reactions. However,_ _ _I am not implying here that Esme is Carlisle's singer in the way SM talked about Edward and Bella.__

 _I look forward to hearing your thoughts and reactions to this chapter, particularly my interpretation of SM's world and how it plays out in this chapter._

 _Blessings and peace_


	13. Renegotiations

**Chapter 13: Renegotiations**

* * *

Fortunately, after a hunt and another two days later, I returned to my normal self. Although her scent continued to tempt me to enjoy her as a husband, I was able, once more, to see my promises to her above all else.

As expected, in the beginning of March a letter from her employer arrived. Knowing the sender, even though it was addressed to me, I waited until we were together before opening it. Upon my enquiring, Esme requested that I read it out loud to her while we were in our usual spots on the sofa in the sitting room.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

I hope this find you well. Oxford School has been honored to have your wife as an instructor this past year. She has been a delight to our students and an excellent colleague to our other instructors.

It is therefore with great regret that I write this to inform you of the unlikelihood of renewing her contract for this next school year. With our military men's welcomed homecoming, we are expected like all others to offer positions to those returning. Additionally, even though you assured me of covering any inconveniences if she were to become with child, that agreement might be insufficient to persuade the Board of Trustees this year, given the radical changes in store for us.

If it is agreeable to you, perhaps we could have a conversation in person regarding this matter, as I truly would like to keep Mrs. Cullen on staff.

With deepest regards,

Mrs. Martin

Throughout the letter Esme's features had remained stoic showing only the slightest hint of disappointment. Unsure of what to say I choose to remain silent and observe her closely.

Greater than an hour passed when with a slight frown she finally stated, "Well, that was not entirely unexpected."

"But not what you were hoping for," I countered unwilling to allow her to act stolid when there was a chance she did not need to endure the upset the notice had clearly brought her.

With my words her face fell and the smell of tears entered the room. "Of course not," she agreed sadly, and then after a few moments returned to her stiffer apathetic presentation and added, "but hoping is not the same as reality. We have spoken many times about how women's positions in the workplace are already beginning to be impacted by the war ending."

"We have indeed," I allowed, then paused before adding, "but not yours specifically."

Scowling as if my words had offended her, she retorted angrily, "I was not arrogant enough to believe my workplace to be exempt."

Saying nothing in reply, as her body language suggested that she was looking for something to express her vexation to, I arranged my features so that she could clearly see my compassion and care for her.

It took her a few minutes before she hung her head and softly told me, "Sorry, my husband. You have done nothing wrong."

"Nevertheless, you are upset," I pointed out.

Taking in a deep breath, she gazed out the window.

After a few minutes she conceded, "I am disappointed. There are a number of the younger teachers that got engaged over the past months and plan on marrying over the summer. I had vainly hoped their leaving would be sufficient to spare me." Then, after a brief pause she stated with a firm tone, "I shall get over it."

"Must you?" I challenged her.

Jerkily her head moved to stare at me while her lips formed into a thin line. Eventually she asked, "Whatever do you mean?"

Trying to find a way to explain, I eventually settled on, "I suspect that Mrs. Martin's offer of a conversation to be a possible opportunity to persuade her to allow you to stay."

Narrowing her eyes like she was trying to deduce what my comments meant, she questioned, "And what manner would you use for this persuasion?"

Keeping my face neutral, I told her, "It would be a combination of speaking with her about any concerns she might have, exploring in more detail the reality of the situation, especially given the classes you teach, and probably bribery."

Her mouth dropped open and she sputtered, "Bribery?"

"Many people are more than willing to give you what you want if you given them what they want, and that often is done with money," I explained very much aware of how sheltered from the reality of the world she had been as a farm girl.

It was not the way of this era for a parent to expose their daughter to such realities. A part of me wished to do the same. However, I could not be truthful with her in all matters, especially financial ones and spare her the ugliness of the world.

"You would pay her to have me be an instructor," she retorted in disbelief.

Knowing she was not going to like my answer, yet determined to be forthright with her, even about this, I told her, "Yes."

Her expression conveyed that the calculations related to this information did not add up for her. Examining me closely she spoke slowly like she was hesitant to know the truth, "Have you done this before on my behalf?"

Aware honesty would displease her, I nevertheless uttered, "Yes."

She gasped and her face took on the bright red colour of when she was livid. "When?" she questioned coldly clearly trying to contain her anger.

Refusing to lie, despite the great possibility that it would increase her ire and alter how she saw her father and myself, I told her, "Your father and I came to a financial arrangement so that you could attend school, and Mrs. Martin and I came to an arrangement in order to overcome her concerns that you might become pregnant."

Suddenly, instead of angry she looked deeply hurt and upset. She stood up and started pacing the sitting room.

Her reaction truly confused me, and therefore I was at a loss of how to respond. Staying seated on the sofa seemed like a reasonable option. Nevertheless, I listened carefully to her heart rate and breathing hoping they would offer me insight.

Over thirty minutes later she looked at me hard, her face contorted into determination, and sat down once more. "Explain please," her tone nearly demanded.

Appreciative that she was searching for information rather than jumping to conclusions, I told her, "As you attending college meant that your father was losing your assistance on the farm, I offered to pay him so that he might hire someone."

She opened her mouth like she was going to say something and then quickly closed it. After a minute and straightening herself, so that her back was absolutely straight, she requested, "Please continue."

"And when I went to sign the papers for your teaching contract Mrs. Martin raised her concerns about you becoming wed. I told her that if you were to come into the family way, I would gladly pay the costs to cover a substitute and the inconvenience of having to find a new teacher. She was happy enough with the assurances offered, so I left it at that, but her letter seems to indicate her need to have more than simple assurances to persuade her Board of Trustees this year, given the altering political events."

Under her breath she muttered, "And here I thought Mrs. Martin offered me a teaching position, despite being married, was because she is a progressive woman." Probably realizing her words would carry to me, she forced her lips closed tightly. After a few minutes she evaluated me critically and asked caustically, "How much has securing my education and employment cost you?"

Ignoring her tone, I replied earnestly, "Pennies in comparison to the happiness and joy it has brought you."

Instantly, her countenance changed once more. The scowl and angry features morphed into a demure smile and she looked abashed. Silence followed for over five minutes before she spoke. This time her tone was even, but suggested the slightest bit of an internal struggle, as there was both appreciation and irritation present.

"We have yet to speak about your financial matters other than your instructions on how I might use a chequebook or withdraw money from the bank, and then how to add what was spent to the ledgers you keep," she pointed out. "Perhaps understanding the full picture will assist in calming my displeasure."

"Certainly," I agreed upon standing up glad that instead of having a sense of being betrayed or a multitude of other possible reactions, she was requesting to understand more, especially as it was a topic I had promised to teach her. Her response was a testament to her quick wit, but I expected she might be upset in the future. Directing her, I told her, "We should go to my office."

Rising also, she came over to me and kissed my cheek slowly in an offering of an apology.

"Thinking nothing of it," I assured her grateful to see her indignation no longer so prominent.

She looked contemplative and contrite when she admitted, "My initial reaction was to be angry at you for spending your money in such a way. Then, I remembered our conversation in the hotel after you had picked me up from the train. You had said that you could have afforded to purchase the hotel. Then there are my experiences of listening to the other girls at the college and being friends with Dorothy, which taught me that money makes the world go round. I might not understand it or agree with it, but I am aware that my upbringing makes it difficult to reconcile with the idea of you paying for me to work. Just like every time before, your good intentions are apparent. I do not mean to insult your efforts towards my happiness. Thank you for all that you have done."

When my mind caught up with her explanation, my initial surprise regarding how much her friend had educated her in these matters quickly disappeared. The little information I had regarding Mrs. Baker nee Griffin had given the impression that she would have been well prepared for the realities of how wealthy men operated and wielded their money. Without doubt, her giving Miss Platt some of this information would have been out of love. Grateful at Mrs. Baker for any and all the ways she had been a good companion to Esme during those years did not alter the shock that Esme's pacing might have allowed her to process all of the complicated emotions she was describing. Most of the nurses along with female patients I had observed over the years cried when overcome with emotions. If Mrs. Platt's words had been accurate, much of Esme's behaviour was due to their loss of children. Quickly realizing I would never get firm answers to these questions, I put them aside. What had been even more incredible than her behaviour or even the accuracy of her conclusions was the staggering quickness in which she had reached them.

Thus, it was with a tone of awe that I replied, "It is insufficient in comparison to what you give me."

She smiled like she doubted my words, while refusing to disagree, and turned so we could leave.

While we walked I focused our conversation on the information she requested, "I keep my holdings in six separate regional banks, so that irrelevant of where in the country I am working there is a bank with offices where I can conduct my business. To manage these I have an accountant at my employ who also invests some of my money in the stock market or other ventures that look promising. Most of my net worth is based off of the continued dividends from these. For today, I will show where to find my accountant's information, my estimated total net worth, and the bank holdings. When you are ready, I would like to begin teaching you how to read the paper and become informed about possible investment opportunities."

She straightened her back the smallest amount, so that she walked just the millimetre taller, and then with a tremor in her voice responded, "Sounds like a fine plan."

Even though I was pleased with her learning these matters, and it was my hope that she would begin to invest her income, so that it would offer her long-term financial gains, I was also nervous as some of the investments went back to a decade or less after my arrival to the American Colonies. Esme might challenge the story that I was the descendent of previous Dr. Carlisle Cullens, and that ran the possibility of her coming closer to knowing my true age. Hopefully by the time she learned of these aspects of my financial holdings, I would have figured out a reasonable explanation that did not require lies. As we climbed the last step and came into my office, despite my concerns, I was filled with joy at being able to have someone in which to share these things with. Invariably, my thought turned fearful that the cost of my joy would be Esme's life.

At the next opportunity we discussed the possible options related to her working during the following school year. She agreed that me setting a meeting with Mrs. Martin would not be to our deficit.

"Are you sure your agreeable to this?" I checked.

She frowned and looked like she was contemplating something. After a few moments she spoke, "There is a part of me that is irritated that my father and you would come to a financial arrangement such as you described. It gives me a sense of being a servant rather than their daughter. At the same time, I cannot help but be appreciative of how much that extra help assisted my parents and eased my mind while I was away. The childish part of me wants the fantasy innocent world of my books, but I am a married woman. Even though a part of me bristles under the reality of what our soldiers returning means to me and that convincing the school to keep me requires such persuasions as you are willing to offer, another part of me recognises the truth of your words. Teaching does bring me joy and fills my day. Then, there is the fact of how much money you have already spent so that I might be able to teach." She paused shaking her head before continuing, "They might expect me to become round with your child, but we know differently. I want to have children in my life, and if this is how I must go about it, then so be it. That does not mean I like it or agree with what you are suggesting."

"Like a woman not being allowed to become an architect?" I offered with a smile enjoying the memory.

She smiled warmly at me hopefully also remembering those moments, but her eyes were sad. "I do not stand in the streets and march for suffrage, but I cannot help but believe in a world where the girls I teach might one day have more opportunities than a teacher, nurse, maid, secretary, or wife."

"You work to make the world a better place in your own way," I assured Esme. "Just as long as you are sure. I do not wish to ask you to violate your own conscious."

"I am not," she confirmed. "It is not how I wish the world worked, but I trust in your judgement and goodness."

Floored at the trust she was bestowing upon me and what an incredible woman she was no words came to mind other than "Thank you."

It was nearing April when a letter in response from Mrs. Martin arrived agreeing to a meeting at my convenience with the times when she would be available. Esme and I examined in detail each of our perspectives and intent of the meeting. She agreed with my opinion that she would attend the meeting with me, even though she appeared nervous about doing so. The next time I had a day off, which coincided with Mrs. Martin's availabilities and Esme's schedule was a week into April. The next morning after walking Esme to work and returning home, I called Oxford School via our home telephone and made an appointment with the school's secretary.

Ironically, my passing the test of my fortitude when she had been sick gave way to another issue. Ruminating over those events brought clarity that as we had passed through Christmas and had neared our one year anniversary, a sense of restlessness had been growing within me. Initially as I reviewed and analysed myself, the feelings made little sense. I possessed exactly what I had imagined and had told her I could give. We had wonderful discussions, were able to be in the same room while pursuing our own interests, enjoyed outings together, and had more physical contact than I had conceived of being even possible. Yet, my emotions made it crystal clear that simply this was insufficient. After much internal debate two options were apparent: I could resign myself to what I had and work towards being grateful for it, or I could consider more.

The afternoon after making the appointment with Mrs. Martin, while escorting my wife home these feelings of restlessness and their accompanying thoughts hounded me. Unable to keep my thoughts to myself anymore, once we entered our home I asked Esme, "Are you content with things between us?"

She looked at me startled. "Where is this coming from Carlisle?" she asked gently but with weariness like she was expecting disappointment.

"You have seemed to have gone through deep realizations and acceptances these past months. I simply want to know," I tried to explain. "Are you content with our marriage?"

She looked down while answering, "It is better than most marriages of my peers."

Puzzled by her answer and uncertain of what to say I admitted, "I do not understand."

She looked up at me mystified. Scowling she stated, "You cannot be so ignorant of things to know that in most marriages woman are men's property, perhaps a treasured property, but a possession nonetheless."

Confounded by her almost defensive tone I did not know how to proceed. Did she possibly think that I wished to alter our terms to behave more like the men from the wedding? Even the possibility felt like a slap.

Unwilling to jump to conclusions and defend against an invisible possibly imagined slight, I simply confessed, "I asked about your contentment with our marriage, and you are speaking about the injustice of your peers' treatment. I apologise, Miss Platt, but I am befuddled."

The hardness that had crept into her features softened, she had a slight appearance of remorse, while her tone was detached, "I apologise. You are correct. I was not answering your question."

As she took a breath, I interrupted her, "Before we get to that, could you please explain your outburst?"

Moving to the sitting room, she sat down and her eyes watered.

My bottom had barely made contact with the cushion when she gushed, "I am upset at the injustice of how others are treated. Perhaps my parents spoiled me, I cannot say, but although I carried the weight of expectations to please them, and was told to behave in appropriate ways, the idea that women were things never entered my mind. My mother was never treated like an object. She might not have known the business world that my father navigated, but he did not know the world in which was her domain."

Saying nothing, I put my hand on hers trying to offer her comfort.

After a few moments she looked up at me and tried to smile. "We might have a chaste marriage, but are nonetheless felicitous. Even more, I am respected and cherished. You are teaching me about financial matters, you have arranged to speak with Mrs. Martin so I might keep my position, you arranged for me to be on the Doctors' Wives Committee, and done so much to bring me happiness."

When she had said nothing more for many minutes I pointed out, "Those were my vows."

Smiling a bit more genuinely, she agreed, "Yes, but not all men honour their vows as diligently and earnestly as you."

It saddened me that she was still expecting me to treat her in the way that was common for this era, as it indicated that the expectations of inequity were deeply embedded within her. Even more troubling was that there was little I could do to alter these beliefs other than continuing to be myself and fulfill my vows.

Frowning at her implication and seriously considering what might have awoken these fears, I hypothesised, "You got a letter from Miss Griffin?"

She appeared dismayed at my questions and frowned.

Not wanting her to think she had betrayed her friend or her fiend's privacy, I assured her, "Your correspondences are none of my business. Please, do not worry. My guess is simply based on your deep friendship with Dorothy and my brief conversation with Mr. Baker who left me the impression that he is a particularly unpleasant toad of a human being. And I am deeply sorry for whatever ills he has bestowed upon your friend. There have been many times in my life when I too have wished the world were different than it is. There are so many moments when what I wish to do is not the same as what I can do. My heart breaks for you to experience her heartaches through your friendship." Pausing briefly as my mind conjured an image of him physically assaulting her, I added, "And please be assured that if she ever needed a refuge, she would be welcomed."

Moisture filled her eyes, but she said nothing, so I reminded her, "You know that you are welcome to spend our money on anything, offering cash even to a friend in need, without ever uttering one word to me."

A tear rolled down her cheek, which I leaned over and wiped away.

When she seemed more composed I continued, "Nevertheless, my question was not about anyone else. My question was about us. Are you content, Esme?"

Gazing at her hands, her words were soft like she did not want to speak. "Our marriage is beautiful and wonderful in so many ways. I have love and freedom. This alone is more than most women receive."

She petered off like she did not want to voice the rest of her thought, so I pressed her, "Yet?"

Looking at me hesitantly and her voice quivering, she admitted, "I cannot help but yearn for things I cannot have. I knew what I agreed to, Carlisle. Give me time. Our accord will be enough. Contentment will come. I will be alright." Her voice had been quiet to begin with, but by the end it was as if she was barely breathing the sounds and her face dropped towards her chest.

Taking her chin into my hand, I softly lifted it, so that I could gaze into her eyes diligently working to not hypnotise her. "I did not ask if you were resigned. I asked if you were content. Please, Esme, I must know."

"Not having children and the fullness of what that means has been tough to come to terms with," she admitted demurely. "But make no mistake, Carlisle, more than children I want you."

Gulping my mind swam with the possibilities of what she might have meant. "How do you want me?" I finally found the courage to ask.

"In every way," she stated emphatically with that vulnerable brazenness that was uniquely her.

Releasing her chin I admitted softly, "As do I, Esme. As do I."

She drew in a brief breath in surprise and watched me her eyes wide.

After taking many minutes to gather my thoughts I told her, "I have a confession and I am afraid that if I voice the words out loud that it will only burden your heart greater."

Her head, which turned down slightly during my last sentence, popped up, her eyes narrowed, and she stared at me as if she were peering into my soul. "You are not trying to make a decision about our marriage without my input are you?"

I chuckled. "Maybe, but certainly not intentionally."

Some of her sternness faded. "I know these months since Christmas have been hard on us. My mother warned me that the first year of marriage is difficult. She reminded me more than once that the merging of two people is bound to cause miscommunication and upsets. In comparison to many of my friends, I perceive that we have gone through it better than most. I am your wife, and I am not fragile. Speak your mind my husband."

She seemed to have no reservation or hesitation. Once more she reminded me of the sixteen year old that had known that her bone needed to be mended and had not cried out, despite the pain. Slowly I began speaking watching her carefully. "I confess that the chaste marriage I requested of you has come to feel insufficient. I have no desire to infect you, but I find myself unsatisfied and wanting more. If you do not feel the same, I will never speak of it again. You have already given me greater than I asked for, and I have no place to ask for anything further."

Her eyes widened even more, her pulse sped up, her whole body seemed to increase slightly in temperature, and the scent of her desire filled the space between us in a sudden rush, as if the months without this added amorous temptation that had been bottled and then broken open spilling its contents all at once. I was hit with it at an intensity that called me in primal ways. Apart from the concentration, her melancholy and then sickness had lessened the richness of these hormonal responses, and I was out of practice. My thoughts were irreproachable. Even attempting to gather myself to speak the theme of these thoughts tentatively combined with the force of her scent pulled at me in a manner that was too much.

"I need a moment," I told her and briskly walked out of the room and into my office.

Amongst my books, papers, and father's cross her scent was elemental, simply the remnants of where she had walked and touched. Taking in deep breaths, I focused on taming my desires. I would not act like an animal. I would not resemble my father or the sewer rats in any of the ways that brought others fear, scorn, or grief. My mind knew without doubt that Miss Platt had the right to refuse me, even as my wife. The conflict was with the primitive instincts raging through me.

Certainly, the presumed access to a wife's body that existed in my era and this one was not relevant to us. The terms of our marriage had been clear on that account. Then, there was the fact that although she had offered herself in the beginning, she had not done so for months. Not to mention that when she had offered herself, it had been unclear to me if those offerings were out of her desire or her sense of obligation. Nevertheless, my animalistic impulses wanted to drive me towards claiming her, as if I were some lion wanting to mount her and bite her into submission. These impulses scared me. Although I had managed to cage them since their appearance, using the similar techniques that I had taught myself to control my bloodlust, they continued to grow stronger rather than weaker over time.

Evaluating the moment critically, it did not take me long to realize the psychological impact of her reaction upon me. Even if her words were insufficient evidence, her involuntary physiological reaction stated clearly that she was not content. And the truth my mind had finally uncovered over these months of pondering was that neither was I. That was the reality I had been keeping from myself.

I wanted to touch her skin and not just her clothing. I wanted to explore her peaks and valleys. I wanted, and I wanted, and I wanted more. I did not know what to do. Every path I could imagine seemed torturous, or would lead to her learning my secret and then dying, or had me lose control and killing her. Even the smallest possibility that I might become so overwhelmed with my desires and accidently hurt her combined with the weight of knowing the cost of taking what my impulses wanted caused me to sag to the floor as if it were a force pushing me down. My feet folded under me, and I sobbed in that hoarse tone that sounded barbaric to my ears with no tears to accompany it. I was consumed with the feeling that what I was facing was too much. Without even knowing what I was doing, I had managed to paint myself into a corner. There was no escape that ended pleasantly. Every action I could fathom broke my moral code, my heart, my vows, or all three. The strength of my helplessness overpowered me. I had no good answers and knew it.

In the midst of my inhuman dry sobbing, my ears still registered Esme standing up, taking in deep breaths, pacing, and then finally climbing the stairs. When she opened my door I did not attempt to change positions or hide myself. These behaviours gave no hint at my true nature, so although I did add a slight rocking motion to appear at least slightly more human, I allowed her to see my vulnerability and shame. It was, next to being presented at court in Volterra, the scariest thing I had ever experienced. Human memories of my father roaring at a child version of me at how unbecoming I was behaving flooded me along with many other fuzzy versions of him whipping me, in vain trying to get me to become a 'stronger man' arose continuously. Esme had paced when overwhelmed, while I was sobbing on the floor. My father's accusation had never seemed truer, and my sense of being a dereliction overshadowed any positive feelings including ones regarding Esme being my wife.

Added to the tsunami of failure drowning me, even though I was grateful for the memories of these human moments Esme kept giving me, was a sense of deep unsettling. I had to wonder how much of my pursuit of those sewer rats was because I had been trying to prove myself honourable enough, gentlemanly enough, worthy of my father's affections and acceptance. It was almost like my compassion for all human beings became my rebellion against his criticisms and insistences in seeing evil lurking everywhere. And even though I was glad for how those choices shaped me, it dawned on me that what Esme had said while courting me might be what was causing my humiliating behaviour.

She had claimed that I was self-sacrificing to such an extent that I did not know how to be in touch with my own needs. The problem was that this attribute that had at one time been my greatest strength had somehow become my tormentor. Faced with my brutish cravings of her, my lack of contentment with our arrangement, and her discontent expressed through her scent, especially as they were congruent, I could only see danger. My mind solely saw more misery or death. Dogmatic refusal that those were my only options continued the overwhelming waves of it all being too much, but I refused to act on impulses. Increasing faith was one thing, but becoming a monster or animal was absolutely repugnant and unacceptable.

Esme came and sat next to me not touching me. For greater than an hour I wept my mind going in the same loops over and over, while trying to remember to rock. Simultaneously, she sat barely moving herself, said nothing, and simply was present with me. Then suddenly images and feelings of shortly after I had been turned came to me. Even while cringing from the memories my mind could not stop making the connections to the present feelings bombarding me and those at that time. But in my darkest hour Father Almighty had sent those deer. Even though I was not worthy, perhaps He would grant me a second miracle. With that smallest sliver of hope the weight of my grief seemed to dissipate enough to end my sounds.

My mind felt exhausted, and I was terrified of facing my wife. Refusing to be a coward on top of my shameful display, by millimetres my eyes found their way to her form. When my eyes met hers I found nothing but compassion. After a lingering oppressive silence with our continued staring at one other, she took her hand and placed it on my cheek.

"The polite question would be, are you all right? But it is obvious that you are not," she proclaimed matter-of-factly. "I am sorry that my presence has caused you such turmoil. I cannot imagine the burden you carry. I only wanted to make it lighter, and it seems that I might have worsened it."

Her words shocked me into stillness. When I gained enough capacity to speak my voice was raw. "Please, Esme, do not speak blasphemy," I begged. "You are the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me. My desire to take you as a husband does a wife is so great, but I refuse to condemn you to my illness. My frustration is merely because I wish that I did not want you as much as I do and see no acceptable resolutions. I am sad for myself. It is unbecoming. I am sorry that you have seen me like this."

Frowning she challenged me, "Do you think of me so superior to believe that I do not have moments when I wish to throw myself a pity party?"

Staring at her, I tried to process her words.

She took my hands and placed them on her cheeks. "What do you think before Christmas and into this year has been about? And you have stood steadfast for me and comforted me. Let me do the same for you."

I stared at her dumbfounded.

"Now, go pick a book and I will meet you in the sitting room," she instructed leaving no room for bargaining.

Nodding, unsure how else to respond, my mind completely in a whirl, I stood up slowly and then helped her up. She brushed off her dress and went downstairs. I picked The Sorrows of Young Werther, as it seemed appropriate.

Upon entering the sitting room, I handed her the book uncertain.

"Come Carlisle," she dictated. "Lay your head in my lap and allow me to read to you."

Looking at her dubiously, I complied nonetheless.

A few moments after lying down and she had started the story I asked her, "Are you comfortable? Am I hurting you in any way?"

"No, Carlisle, you are fine," she replied with a huff. Then with a softer tone promised, "If my leg begins to fall asleep, I shall tell you."

Saying nothing, I settled down remembering not to still myself too much, and allowed her to run her fingers through my hair. It took awhile for me to fully relax and see the value in her suggestions. By then I felt slight rumblings in my chest that I had never experienced before. I suppressed whatever reaction my body was having knowing that it was inhuman, but swore it was almost as if I were purring. Such a conclusion sounded insane, but after reviewing my memories I concluded that the sound had appeared a few times in Volterra. Instead of thinking more about it, I closed my eyes and made sure the sound never left my mouth.

Eventually the night caught up with her, her eyes closed, and the book slid out of her hands. In the midst of sitting up, I caught the book, marked her place, and then left it on the side table. Carrying her upstairs to her room, I reflected upon what had happened. In her room I undressed her to her undergarments and then placed her under the covers. Rather than leaving, I sat myself next to her on top of the bedspread and stroked her hair humming to her.

The oppressive feelings from before had lightened some. Admittedly my emotional release along with her care had done me wonders not just for my present knots, but for whatever unworthy feelings my father's words had instilled within me. Without a doubt she was a magical healer, but the problem at hand was still left unresolved. Somehow though, through her act of kindness and gentle acceptance of me, even in such a state, she had calmed the overwhelming emotions that had distorted my thinking and had brought me such desolation.

Listening to Esme's breaths and heartbeats, it was if her acts had created a pathway in my mind that had not existed prior. Once more, she had formed a third way, and I began an attempt to examine things between us on a purely scientific basis.

The greatest problem, I reasoned, was the uncertainty regarding the exact risk that my fluids held. From all the information I had acquired from Volterra drinking her blood or my venom coming into contact with her blood would commence the change. However, I saw no risk to her or to myself regarding me consuming her fluids. The issue was that for me to come into that intimate of contact with her fluids gave a possibility of my venom entering her circulatory system.

Could my venom enter her through her skin, for instance, through me licking her? How about if my venom came in contact with her saliva, for instance in kissing open mouthed? Of course, the moment I began to ponder these things the images of these act appeared before me, and my body indicated my attraction to such an action. Then, I had to find a way to contain myself and to not accost her.

I was lost in my thoughts, fighting with my body, desperately trying to be rational about this, while working to tame this want within in me for the majority of the night. When Esme's body indicated that she was awakening I had to quickly decide to stay or leave. My thoughts racing, it took me a few seconds to realize that although her reaction concerned me, I did not want to pull myself away from her, not to mention that I had my instincts under wraps. As such, I stayed closing my eyes, so that it appeared as if I were resting.

Hearing her eyes flutter open and her turning towards me, I monitored myself slightly unsure of what she would do. It was the first time I had laid upon her bed let alone had spent the night in her room.

She took my right hand in hers and spoke, "Dr. Cullen I know you are not sleeping. Do you wish to speak about last night before I must face the day and children?"

Opening my eyes slowly, I smiled at her pleased that she knew me so well, and that she had yet to appear upset at me for being in her bed. Giving in to her simple acceptance of my invasion without her permission, I said nothing about it and instead focused on voicing where my mind had been. "I seem to be in a knot and unable to find a loose end in order to undo it."

"Share, and perhaps I can help," she offered.

Smiling broader at her and remembering her intense biological reaction prior, I prepared myself for the indications of her arousal.

Forming my features into something serious, I used my professional tone to explain, "Previously, I had assumed the safest course to ensuring your health and well-being, chasteness, would be best. However, with time passing and us living together it seems that route has brought neither of us satisfaction. Therefore, I am attempting to reason through whether another option could be possible. I want to be able to look at it scientifically and firmly establish what would cause you harm, and what would not. The problem I am having is that any thoughts of you seem to cause a strong physical reaction in me and eliminate any rational thought."

As predicted her arousal filled the space, but it was softer this time. For microseconds there were quick flashes of excitement and nervousness in her expressions, but quickly she schooled her features into how she presented herself to me when we were in a serious philosophical debate.

"Extremely scientific of you," she stated in an even tone that also spoke of her agreement. "What are you considering, as a scientist, of course?" she asked crisply, but there was a teasing smile she was working at containing.

It was easier to match her tone and speak as if we were colleagues than I would have imagined. Perhaps it was the years of our correspondence and the last year of engaging debate that allowed such ease.

"For instance, would your skin be able to be enough of a barrier to protect against the infection? What about your saliva?" I offered to her.

She managed to keep her face contemplative, but her eyes dilated and the strength of her arousal increased. "Those are good questions, Dr. Cullen. How were you infected?" she asked casually.

It was a natural question, given the topic. Nonetheless, I found it challenging to answer and frowned at the memory it brought up for me. "Through an open wound," I told her.

While the memory replayed, Esme's face was twisted in concentration. "Given the little you have taught me during the epidemic about the body's different systems and how disease attacks the body, I am likely wrong in my guess. Nevertheless, perhaps you contracted the illness by it coming into contact with your bloodstream in some way?" she asked voicing her hypothesis.

Her deductive reasoning powers continued to impress me. "The infection spreading through my blood was my conclusion as well," I confirmed.

"So, as long as your fluids do not come near my blood?" she asked slowly putting the words together as she went.

"But the human body is intricately connected. Saliva, for instance, lives in the mouth, but can travel to the stomach, where the lining houses much blood. Even the mouth itself has veins and capillaries. I simply do not know enough," I admitted in defeat.

"Could you do some kind of experiments?" she asked her face scrunched up like it gets when she is trying to solve a Holmes mystery.

"I would need a microscope and a work room," I told her. "I would not dare risk anyone, especially you."

She propped her face onto her hands and looked at me wantonly. "So, until you do your experiments, what would you consider safe?"

Trying diligently to keep my mind clean, I answered, "Touch seems fine."

"Well, perhaps our experiments could start there, Dr. Cullen," she stated her voice serious, while her eyes twinkled in glee. "You touch me though my clothes until you believe yourself ready to have me in just my undergarments. Then we could move to the next stage of your experiment by having you touching me in that state of undress."

My body had immediately reacted to her suggestion with my mind once again being filled with the splendour of her body without a dress.

She smiled mischievously, "Glad we are of an accord. But there is not enough time this morning for that. Shoo. I must get ready for work."

My mouth dropped open shocked at her forwardness, while simultaneously unwilling to disagree. Once more she had created a third way.

"I have work tonight," I muttered.

"Well, then, till your next day off, you shall just have to make do with touching on top of my clothes," she stated as if this were obvious, then her voice dropped to a whisper. "Does this mean that I may touch you?"

Flustered it took me a few seconds before I checked, "On top of clothes?"

"Yes," she answered.

After a quick reasoning, I told her, "Then I agree."

It was under the garments where the risk lay. It would become easily noticeable that blood did not pump through my veins as hers did or that my skin was more than just cold. What if the lights were off? I wondered, but that question opened a Pandora's box of ideas, so I quickly and securely closed the lid.

"Good," she smiled happily. She went to get up, but stopped herself. "What happened to my dress?" she asked eying me.

"You fell asleep reading. I removed it in the hopes that you would sleep better," I told her sheepishly. "I vow that your modesty was kept."

Nodding, but appearing slightly disappointed she pointed to the door.

"Thank you," she told me shyly, "but now I must insist you leave."

Confused by her reactions, but abiding by her requests, I stated, "Yes, Mrs. Cullen." Then, I stood and went to the entryway. As I stepped through it, I told her, "Thank you for being my wife."

"You are welcome, my dear husband," she replied as I closed the door behind me.

Escorting her to work, I mentioned my observation, "You did not seem upset that I spent the night in your room."

"I was not upset," she confirmed.

Her tone was strange like she wanted to say something more, but was holding back.

"Is that something we need to discuss?" I wondered.

"No," she refused with strength. "We are married. You are welcome to put me to bed and sleep alongside me any evening."

"Sure?" I questioned unsure of her intentions on this matter.

"Absolutely," she replied without any waiver.

The strength of her response was odd to me, but she said nothing more on the matter and I was reluctant to push for an explanation.

Over the next days, I watched other couples at the park and listened through the walls trying to gather as much data as I could in intimate interactions between human couples. I spent one day going through my memories and writing down anything that I thought might be helpful in order to increase our limits while also keeping her safe. Over the next week in the few hours we had together, we would purposefully touch each other's clothes. These actions both helped calm my nerves and excited me for what the future might contain. On my next day off she worked a longer shift than usual as grading was needed, and had warned me as such. She had not rung, so I had not escorted her. Instead, she arrived home by buggy.

Giving myself time to collect myself and prepare for the possibility of her declining our plans, I remained in my study. While she removed her outer garments I considered if it would comfort her for me to go to her. The sound of her movements along with her heart rate and breathing seemed to indicate a slight trepidation, so I remained in my seat with my poor attempts to focus on writing. After going to the kitchen and preparing herself some food, she sought me out.

"Sorry for the late hour," she greeted me appearing slightly nervous.

"It was worth the wait," I replied setting down my journal and stepping towards her.

Starting with her face, I placed my hands on her cheeks. "Shall you join me and we converse about our day?"

Hey eyes met mine evaluating me.

"I have not changed my mind," I hoped to assure her. "That is not to say that you do not hold the right to change yours."

She smiled broadly looking pleased and happy. Then after a moment to collected herself and answered with a cheeky grin, "No, thank you."

"Are you sure?" I checked in.

"Without doubt," she assured me with a wide smile.

"Are you fine here or shall we adjourn to a different room?" I wondered.

Smiling sweetly, but with a touch of nervousness she replied, "Here's fine."

"You shall tell me if you become afraid?" I verified.

"Yes, my husband," she promised, and then with an commanding yet warm tone she added, "I request you proceed."

* * *

 _A/N:_ _I have to admit that I found it challenging to realize that in this time in history women were still men's property and as Esme is his wife he has to sign and agree to her working, thus the letter of contract renewal would come to him, even from a liberal all girl's college._

 _Information about Oxford School's history can be found at: [take out the spaces] kings wood [slash]page[slash]about-ko[slash]history. Go Mary Martin and her forward thinking ideas!_

 _I just want to offer a huge shout out to everyone who has left me a message! It has been incredibly uplifting and inspiring! Thank you all. Muwh!_


	14. Finer Details

**Chapter 14: Finer Details**

* * *

Trusting in her declaration and having no other words to say, I moved my hands delicately and slowly down over the sides of her neck, shoulders, arms, elbows, hands, back up her arms, then down her sides. These were comfortable movements we had done before. Even still, the anticipation of where they were leading added to the moment and I found myself moving even slower than usual taking my time to appreciate the gift she was giving me. When these came to an end instead of stopping I moved around slightly to the front over her stomach and down past her belly button resting on her hips. She shuddered slightly to my touching these spaces with a gleeful smile.

Her movement seemed to indicate pleasure, nevertheless I checked, "You cold?"

Her eyes met mine and she grinned brightly. "Thank you for checking, but my reaction was due to enjoying your touch."

Grinning back at her I declared, "Good to know." Then, after a brief pause added, "If that changes, please inform me."

I had warmed the house a few degrees more in anticipation of her needing warmer rooms if she were to be disrobed for any extended amount of time. Nonetheless, it was challenging for me to know her comfort level, as our actions were all new.

Even though she had expressed to me no preference of room, suddenly undressing her in front of my father's cross seemed crass and disrespectful. Consequently, I moved my hands over to the sides of her hips and picked her up. Like that, being careful of the pressure exerted, I carried her to my room.

Her face held a mixture of fury, joy, pleasure, and fear.

Once we were in my room, I set her down on her feet. "Are you alright, Mrs. Cullen?" I checked.

"Dandy," she replied in a tone that was new and thus confusing to me.

"Shall we stop here then?" I wondered.

Her facial expression changed again to one of disbelief and pleading while she replied her voice quiet, "No thank you Dr. Cullen."

"Want to explain your retort to me changing location?" I offered to her.

She moved her hands to my face and stared into my eyes. After a few seconds had passed she told me, "You are usually so gentle that it is easy to forget you are also as strong as my father. You are usually so careful to ensure my agreement to things, yet just moved us without asking. A part of me enjoyed watching you behave in this way. Another part is scared of it. It reminds me a little of what you told me after our tickling debacle. The qualities in me that your action brought out I did not like. You did nothing wrong."

Examining her carefully, I wondered what it was that she suggested she did not like within herself. Aware that her gaze was nearly begging me to let the topic go and to focus once more on our explorations, I checked with a cheeky grin, "Shall we return to our awaited purpose of the evening?"

Her breathing became slightly more shallow and she answered me with her tone deeper than usual, "Yes, please."

With her confirmation to proceed I let my confusion go for the moment and requested, "Turn around, please."

She did so slowly seemingly slightly nervous and obviously aroused.

Trusting that her nervousness was simply due to the unknown, I let it go choosing to believe that she would keep her word and speak up if she became afraid.

Carefully and methodically I undid her buttons down the back of her dress. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I moved her around to face me. Then, with my right hand I slid the fabric down so that her right shoulder was exposed. I repeated the same motion with my left hand. Holding the fabric against her arms I began to catalogue this part of her. When I felt more confident, I leaned in and ran my nose from her left shoulder, across her left collarbone, around her neck, over her right collarbone, and to her right shoulder. The sensation of her breath in my hair as I travelled across her was tantalising.

Taking in deep breaths, I allowed her scents to fill my mouth and lungs while also allowing her sounds to fill my ears. She was everything surrounding me on all sides and completely enveloping me. Feeling ready, I moved the fabric down two inches and repeated the process. When the material was low enough that the tops of her peaks could be seen, I took extra care of them, kissing the tops of them with my lips closed.

She shivered as I did so.

"That all right?" I asked concerned that the room was not warm enough and that I had given her a chill.

"More than all right, Carlisle. Feel free to continue," she told me her words slurred.

After ruling out the possibility of alcohol consumption, I was forced to consider the possibility that my actions were causing the alterations in her that caused her to behave as such.

"Perhaps sitting would be beneficial?" I asked her concerned for her to remain standing in her present state. "And it would allow me to remove your footwear."

"All right," she agreed sounding a little more together and moved to the bed sitting on the edge.

Kneeling on the floor, I carefully lifted her left foot and unlaced her boot gingerly removing it. Next, I did the same to the right foot. It was something I had done before, which helped calm my nerves. Once more certain I had control over myself, my eyes travelled upwards. Looking up at her and seemingly gaining permission to continue, I lifted her skirt and placed it upon her knees. Her hosiery hid the skin of her legs, which was in equal measures appreciated and irritating. Running my hands along her feet and legs I began massaging them. This activity allowed me to do something that felt familiar and thus more comfortable, while touching the silk of the material added something new. It seemed to also give Esme the same reaction as prior times, except she also looked even more serene.

When I perceived us both ready, I stood up and brought her to her feet. I ran my hands down her arms and slowly took out her left arm and then her right from the dress. She held the dress with one arm under her brassiere keeping it from falling appearing slightly apprehensive.

Once both arms were removed, she looked at me in a searching manner. Taking the words from me, she asked, "How are you doing?"

"You are more than exquisite," I uttered reverently. "No masterpiece on earth compares to you."

"Ready?" she asked seemingly unsure on how to answer my flattery.

Smiling at her I checked, "You?"

"Yes, my dear husband," she confirmed.

She twitched like she was going to move.

"Let me," I told her.

As she put her arm down, I took the fabric in my hand. With great exaggeration I moved the dress down her chest, stomach, waist, and then hips. After the hips I let it go, allowing it to fall to the floor. Reflectively I took a step back and marvelled.

My eyes still had not taken her in fully when she asked with nervousness, "Please, husband, come nearer."

I obliged, but said nothing.

Eventually she asked, "Are you displeased?"

Looking at her shocked and greatly appalled I asked, "How could I be displeased?"

"The first time you saw me in my undergarments you stilled completely. I was concerned it was because you were displeased," she explained.

Our miscommunication was appalling. What a terrible communicator I must be as a husband if she had been thinking that all this time. Ensuring there was no longer any confusion, I admitted to her my voice strong and insistent, "No, it was because I was too pleased."

She looked confused briefly before a look of knowing passed over her. Then her face lit up and she seemed to glow.

Had I inadvertently contributed to her melancholy? That would not do. Taking my hands I placed her face between them and drew near, kissing her with more force than I had ever attempted before. Drawing back, I looked at her. Except that her breathing had quickened and her lips had deepened in colour, she seemed well, so I moved my hands down her neck and kissed along her jawline to her ear. My hands and my lips moved covering her and then kissing her down the line from her ear then across her shoulder to the top of her arm left and then right.

Pausing, I examined her again. Her heart was beating faster and her lungs were taking in quick shallow breaths, but the smile on her face, the look in her eyes, and her heavy perfume that hung in the air implied that I could continue. Moving my hands to the sides of her brassiere under her arms, I slowly felt the material and below that each area of muscles pulsing under my fingertips and palms. When I came to her hips I moved my hands to the back and explored up to the bottom of her shoulder blades then back down her spine. Timidly I began the movement around her hips towards the front.

Checking in with her once more and since she seemed to be enjoying my movements, I moved my hands in uncertainty towards the bottom of her mounds. As I drew nearer her eyes seemed to have a combination of excitement, anticipation, and fear. Her arousal aromas deepened and abounded as if calling me home. The pull to rip her clothes, toss her into my bed, and forego the consequences to her was becoming too much, not to mention the fear she seemed to be exhibiting. I was in no state to confirm if her body was also producing the chemicals associated with fear, as I had started to hold my breath. Instead, I took a step back.

"You carry a touch of divinity, my sweet," I spoke. "Words could never express my appreciation for all that you are and give me. I can go no further."

Her smile was slightly sad, but there was relief there as well. Perhaps she too was not ready.

"May I return the favour?" she asked shyly.

Esme's eyes contained that vulnerable yet brazen look that I had yet been able to refuse, so simply reminded her, "Until my shirt and pants. I am not yet ready to have you touch my skin."

Her face morphed into disappointment, but after a second she schooled her features and looked merely serious instead.

"Of course," she assured me, and then after a few moments of contemplation asked, "Will you sit on the edge of the bed, please?"

I complied in a slow exaggeration, giving both herself and myself time to acclimatise ourselves to her present state of undress. Once sat and feeling ready, I drew in the smallest sample of the air. Whatever had been mixed into her scent was no longer heavy, although it was in the sample I had taken in the smallest degrees. There was some adrenaline, but most importantly, for my purpose, a molecule of glutamate. Not once, ever, did I want Esme to be afraid of what we were doing or of me. Perhaps fear was a normal human physiological response in this situation. It was new after all. Nevertheless, I was determined to find a way so that Esme was not afraid when we were together like this. Perhaps it was simple exposure. The more times we explored each other in this way the more comfortable she would become and thus decrease her fear response. I would like to think that would work, but if not perhaps Esme would think of some other solution.

These thoughts stopped as soon as she moved towards me. Immediately, she enraptured my full attention. To my surprise, I was afraid. I could feel my natural response to fear: to either flee or attack. Instead, I locked my muscles in place, remembered to move my shoulders so that it appeared that I was breathing even though I had stopped, and told myself it was only Esme and that she would respect my wishes. Then it dawned on me that perhaps her fear response was for the same reasons as mine: vulnerability and trepidation of the unknown. Quickly putting that thought aside to consider later, I focused on Esme and appearing human.

She moved slowly towards me and I revelled at how she looked in her undergarments. When she came in front of me she placed her hands on my knees and put the most slightest amount of pressure on them as if she were moving them to the sides. I shifted them in the direction she was indicating, but doing so increased my sense of apprehension. Once my legs were spread apart, she stepped into where they had been. Her heat radiated and when I measured it there seemed to be three quarters of a degree increase in comparison to her normal temperature. That was certainly within acceptable limits, but I did not know what the information told me. Certainly I had experienced that a human female's lower regions increased in temperature due to increased blood flow when giving birth. Was there some connection?

Before my mind could give it any more thought her heat moved beyond my clothes and began to penetrate into my skin doing strange things to my loins. Where in the previous activities it had simply hardened, it began to twitch in a way I had never experienced before, as if it were its own being attempting to suss out the source of the heat. I tried to ignore it and hoped that Esme did not get close enough to be aware of what my body was doing. The bed's footboard stopped her movements and, given where I was sitting in the bed, gave her core and my member a good four inches of distance. It was not a lot, but I hoped it was enough.

"Lean forward, please," she instructed.

I complied in relief, as doing so nearly guaranteed to maintain the distance between us.

She leaned in forward slightly and put her hands around my neck in order to lift my collar. The motion was both intensely pleasurable and fearful. Intellectually I knew that she did not have the strength to remove my head and kill me, but it was the first time anyone's hands had been in that position. Fortunately it did not last long, as she moved her hands around to the front near my adam's apple and unloosened my tie. She untied it completely, lifted it from around my neck, and then gently placed it on the bed to my left.

Once the tie was on the bed, she moved her hands back to my neck and undid the top two buttons of my shirt, the only ones visible prior to my knitted vest.

My eyes opened wider responding to my sense of being exposed in front of her.

She then moved her hands slowly along my shoulders inching her warmth towards my arms and then down them. When she got to my hands she lifted one and explored my palm. Certainly she would have noted my lack of a lifeline and swirls on my fingertips and thumbs, but she said nothing. Before moving on she undid the cufflinks at my wrist, placing them next to my tie.

Once both of my hands had been explored, she moved her hands down slightly to the bottom of the vest, which lay on my pants. She did so at my sides and then slowly lifted the fabric. When she got about halfway up my torso she commanded, "Hands up."

I abided by her request, allowing her to fully remove my vest. It was the most unclothed I had ever been with her and it was unnerving.

"How are you my husband?" she asked in hushed tones.

"Nervous and apprehensive, but I trust you. It has given me greater appreciation for your courage, my love. I have no idea how you stand before me in your undergarments without the tremors I feel," I confessed.

She tilted her head to the side. "You do not seem to be trembling," she noted.

"I am holding myself still so that my weakness does not show through," I divulged.

She smiled kindly. "Well, my dear husband, would you allow me to touch you on the outside of the garments you still have on?"

Smiling shyly I conceded, "Just please not near private parts."

"Perfectly understandable." Then she added, "I promise," at a whisper. After taking a moment she requested, "Would you stand, please?"

While doing so she took my hand and led me in a half circle so that I ended up facing the bed, then she stepped behind me.

Her hands started at my neck again, as she put my collar back down. She then moved them to the centre of my back, and with just her fingertips traced my spine. When she got to my pants, she moved her hands further apart and placed her palms on my back. She then moved upwards to my shoulders. Once her hands were upon my shoulders, she moved them further apart again and moved downwards till my pants, then up again, repeating the same process until she came to my arms.

At my arms she went down them, feeling the outsides of my hands and then rested her palms on my waist. Then she shifted slightly right and placed her hands side by side on the back of my leg moving from where it met my rump down with exaggerated slowness. When she got to my heel she shifted herself to the left and repeated the process with the other leg.

At the left heel she said, "Turn around please."

Upon my compliance I found her staring at my stocking feet.

"You can stop if you wish, Esme," I encouraged her, as she seemed unusually hesitant. "You have given me more than I could have wished for."

She nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. Her hand moved to my right foot and began moving from the toes up the sock, under the pant leg, up to the ankle, and back again.

"Do you think it is normal to be afraid?" she asked quietly after many long minutes.

"I am afraid," I admitted.

She looked up at my face. "You are?" she wondered with a tone like she did not believe me.

"I am afraid of a great many things when it comes to you Esme," I disclosed.

She looked back down and sighed, her hand this time moved up my pant leg over my shin. Her motion looked like it was almost unconscious. "A part of me is excited and is enjoying being able to explore you in this way. The other part of me is terrified of what could happen. I have no brothers and although saw a few of the neighbour boys without their shirts in the field; they were a fair ways off. I know nothing of men."

My mind captured the truth of her conclusions and then quickly realised that she might react to her fear how she had having her bone set, something that was abhorrent to me. With the slightest growl in my voice I commanded, "Do not ever do anything you are not ready to do."

She bristled under my tone.

"Please," I softened instantly aware of how harsh my tone had been, but was still insistent. "I could not bear the thought if you did anything only because of what you believed would please me, rather than what you wanted to do. You are not here to satisfy my wants."

"But my mother …" she started and then trailed off.

"I am going to join you sitting on the floor Esme. I abhor this position of me standing over you," I revealed, explaining further, "I have too many memories of my father over me before he struck me."

Her eyes grew large and she scooted back.

Sitting down I crossed my legs over each other and reached out for her hand.

"Are you all right?" I asked concerned. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"You have never spoken to me in such a way. That is all," she stated sounding like she was downplaying her true feelings.

"I only meant to impart the seriousness of my words, nothing more," I said attempting to assuage any emotions that my tone seemed to have conjured within her.

She nodded. After a few moments she looked up at me nearly pleading. "Carlisle, these garments are not very comfortable. Would you mind if I went and changed into my nightgown with robe?"

"Please make yourself comfortable," I insisted. Although I considered suggesting reconvening this conversation somewhere else, I suspected that she would have mentioned that as well if she had needed a change of location, and it made no difference to me.

It took her longer than it would have normally to return. Her noises in her room made no sense, as it sounded like she was sitting at her table brushing her hair over and over again.

"Esme?" I called out.

"Coming," she answered in a distant voice.

When she entered she looked distracted.

"What is it?" I asked concerned.

"I did not finish my exploration," she stated.

"Yes," I agreed confused about how her statement related to her apparent distress. "What about it?"

"I feel bad," she confessed. "I wanted to finish, but my fear stopped me."

Stopping my desire to repeat my prior statement, I instead continued to look up at her and offered, "Come down and sit on the floor as we were. We can talk and if you want, there is always later or tomorrow or a week from today or a month or a year to do those things. Please, my love, hear me, there is no rush. Please tell me what is running through that beautiful mind of yours."

Sitting on the floor facing each other, it hit me how quickly this aspect of our relationship had changed and its deep impact on the connection between us. Perhaps it was because of me, or due to what she was about to say, or maybe it was the combination of her and I together, but watching her decide if she wanted to talk about whatever concerned her, it dawned on me that this past year could have been an entirely different experience if either of us had been more transparent.

Yet, even having the advantage of looking backwards and evaluating my choices, I would not have changed a thing. From my vantage point the pace of this last year had been exactly ideal. It had been a wonderful opportunity for us to get to know each other in ways we had not before. We had not courted in the regular sense and the year gone had given me a chance to learn her better.

At the same time, what we had agreed before we had wed was that we were going to be essentially roommates who presented ourselves as a married couple. By admitting to her that I wanted more, I had also requested for us to become more than roommates. For the first time it dawned on me that she might have agreed to my pre-wedding terms for her own sake, and not only as a condition of marriage that she accepted. What did I really know about being a woman of this era? It dawned on me that prior to our recent conversations much of my beliefs about Esme came from a combination of assumptions and listening to nurses. However, she was not either. How much of her was still a mystery to me? While mulling over these possibilities and chastising myself, she sat clearly in her own inner turmoil.

Eventually the silence between us was interrupted and she started to speak, "My mother told me to expect that you would want to touch me and place your organ within me on our first night. She told me it was painful, but that I would need to grin and bear it, as it was now a part of my job as your wife to ensure that you were pleased in these ways, least you believe me inadequate and find someone else who would satisfy these matters for you." Then she looked up at me cautiously, obviously embarrassed by admitting these things. "Naturally, I knew our agreement, so her words held no meaning for me. I know what you said about fluids, but I have to admit great ignorance in these matters, and I do not know how to reconcile her words with these new things we are trying. Any fears that I had dismissed have returned tenfold."

"How I wish your education held some information about these things," I ranted.

"They taught us our female body parts," she defended her eyes concerned at my tone.

Softening my voice, I explained, "I did not intend to say otherwise. I apologise. It is a widespread national cultural policy in which I am disagreeing. See, I think that if young men and women were taught some of the basics of copulation there would be much less fear."

"That makes sense," she agreed easily, "But you are quite knowledgeable, I assume, given your occupation. Why are you afraid?"

"Afraid that I will hurt you, as I am quite strong; afraid I will inadvertently contaminate you; afraid that you will not like what you see or in this case touch; afraid that my inexperience in these matters will result in misunderstandings or hurt feelings; and afraid of my own impulses."

"Are they strong?" she asked meekly.

Unsure of her meaning, I queried, "Are what strong?"

"Your impulses," she clarified.

"Yes, sometimes I feel like I am a stranger in my own body," I disclosed.

"As do I," she acknowledged.

"You do?" I asked baffled.

"Yes," she agreed with a little sad sigh. "The feelings in my body when you touched me or when I touched you were so strong. That feeling is of just wanting more, but simultaneously feeling as if I were hurling towards a cliff, and it frightened me. And I did not understand my mother's warning, except to say that she was trying to pre-emptively comfort me and give me wise advice as she saw it."

"Perhaps," I suggested slowly loathed to be the one to explain such things to her, "she was warning you about the fact that there is a barrier, a membrane really, within your inner parts that must be broken for a man and woman to be intimate in that way."

She nodded, but looked like she was trying to puzzle it out.

I wanted to elucidate, but the words were caught in my throat. Usually a nurse explained these matters. I had no practise with conversations with young wives. Instead, I took the coward's way out, "However, the fluid in my organ would be in contact with the fluids in yours if we were to do such a thing, and as such almost certainly too risky for us."

She looked down embarrassed before she spoke quietly, "What about those rubber things some people talk about? I overheard some of the looser women say they prevent pregnancy."

Surprised she had overheard such talk, as it certainly was not a conversation for polite society, I nevertheless answered her enquiry. "Yes, they are a sheath to cover a man's organ, which when worn are reputed to protect him from diseases carried by women of ill repute. According to the medical journals I have read, the Germans distributed them widely to their soldiers during the Great War, and some US Military Medical Advisors recommended the Allies do the same, but it was not done. Thus, the evidence of them being able to do what is claimed is mostly in Germany and little is known about their effectiveness here in the United States."

"Could that work for us?" she asked curiously and bashfully.

"I could not say," I answered after some careful thought. At her disappointment, I added, "But perhaps they would be worthy of one of my experiments?"

"Perhaps," she agreed timidly.

When she appeared to have nothing more to say on the matter, I mentally reviewed all the questions that were important to me to have answered before we parted company.

"Did I hurt you in anyway when I touched you?" I asked watching her carefully.

"No," she replied quietly.

"Was there anything you did not like that I did?" I pressed.

"I liked it all fine, Carlisle," she said without inflection.

"Explain your tone," I demanded upset at her keeping this from me, and then gathered myself and added after a pause my tone gentle, "Please."

She looked a little taken back by my insistence we speak talk about this and how I had spoken to her. Nevertheless, she collected herself and thought a while. Most of the time we was frowning and appeared irritated.

Finally she stated, "My body did not want you to stop, but I was afraid, so I was glad you stopped where you did. It is irritating to be split in two like this," and then huffed.

Her answer comforted me and allowed my frustration to be released. She was not upset at me or what had happened, but in how her body had responded. Knowing so eased my concerns.

Sensing she might also need assurance, I admitted, "I am also torn in two. Perhaps it is simply because it is new to us."

Silence descended between us as she ruminated over my admission. When she spoke it was with hesitancy, "Did you like my touch?"

Without pause and with conviction in my tone, I admitted, "Very much."

The edges of her lips turned up like she enjoyed my answer, but her eyes and features conveyed that she was deep in thought.

After a few minutes she enquired, "Did you want me to continue?"

Trying to keep the urging out of my tone, I told her, "One day, when you are ready."

Her lips tightened, and then she asked with a tone of trepidation, "Sure you are not disappointed?"

"What is there to be disappointed about?" I replied curious about her insecurity. "You are giving me an indescribable amount more than I expected."

She appeared glad that I was pleased, but then almost immediately upset.

Eventually she gained the courage to confess, "Maybe one day I will not be afraid for you to touch my bosom."

Smiling at the strength it had taken her to admit to such a thing, I put my hand on her face agreeing, "Perhaps," then pausing so make my point clear I added, "but next time Esme, and please, I cannot say this strongly enough, I need you to say stop when you are afraid. You are not my concubine. You are not my toy. You are my wife and never do I want you to be afraid. Never do I want you to ever do anything you are not one-hundred percent sure you want to do."

Over and over her eyes moved from mine to my hand back to my eyes. Then without warning she stopped at with conviction keeping eye contact told me, "All right."

"All right?" I confirmed a bit surprised that she had not needed to speak about it more.

"Yes, all right," she grumbled trying to sound playful and smile. "It is not a bad thing you are asking of me. I will do it." Frowning she paused and then asked, "Would you do the same in return?"

"Yes, I will," I vowed and then allowed my hand to return to her knee.

"So, what have we decided exactly?" she asked after a moment's silence between us.

"I have been thinking over the past days that we have agreed to be more than housemates," I told her.

She smiled like my answer pleased her.

"Are you sure?" I pressed concerned her mother's words were pressuring her to be intimate when she was not interested herself. "Having a taste of this and then stopping might be worse than simply denying ourselves," I pointed out. "And hopefully I have already shown you this past year that you not need worry about me continuing my fidelities to you. It is critical that you are making decisions on your own wants and nothing else."

She put her hands on my knees. "I vow to you, my husband, that I do want us to touch more than we have this last year. I cannot deny the expectations society has of me as your wife, but I promise you that my decision is based on my own mind and heart."

Smiling softly at her, I let it go, "Thank you for those assurances." Pausing briefly, I then told her ensuring my tone was gentle, so she might feel free to disagree, "I do believe perhaps it best if we continued the touches we have tried tonight but no more in the coming weeks and when either of us is ready to receive more we shall tell the other."

She thought it over and many long minutes passed between us before she agreed, "Seems fair enough." Silence stretched on between us with her running her fingers in small circles on my knees on top of my pants. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" I checked slightly confused, although grateful she was appreciative.

"For being a true gentleman in every sense of that word," she insisted with force. "I am truly blessed to be your wife."

"You are welcome, but it is I who is blessed beyond measure," I contented with conviction.

"Then we shall have to agree to disagree," she stated playfully.

"With that I can agree," I told her. Pausing briefly I questioned, "Would you be willing to speak more about what arose in you when I picked you up and moved you, especially anything that displeased you?"

She frowned clearly disliking my question. After many minutes had passed she admitted, "I am concerned that you will think less of me or wish to change our agreement if I were to speak these thoughts. Yet, I do not want there to be lies or even omissions between us."

Realizing what my question had asked of her without being willing to repay her in kind, I considered my words carefully. "There are a great many things I am keeping from you, and plan on keeping from you, so that you will be better protected from the dangers that knowledge possesses."

For a moment she was caught off guard and then mumbled under her breath, "Your infection."

"Are you implying your wish to also renegotiate these terms of our pre-nuptial agreement?" I wondered apprehensively.

She looked at me with such a complex array of emotions flittering through her features that I could not even guess was she was feeling let alone thinking. Many long minutes continued and the silence between us grew into being slightly uncomfortable. However, I simply sat with my thumbs and fingers touching her knees and making small motions intended to assure her of my presence.

Eventually she told me, "I cannot deny that a part of me is curious and thus wishes to know. I also cannot refute that continuing to abide by our agreement requires me trusting your judgement completely on this issue, despite in every other matter you ask me to form my own opinions. Nevertheless, I took your warnings seriously and will continue to do so. Given that and even though I can see how you might make that connection, I was referring to all the other things about us. We have agreed to become more intimate, but have never spoken about what we wish for or might desire. I was taught these are unbecoming conversations for a lady. In fact, many of the conversations we have already had would make my mother would be mortified and she might possibly even consider me a harlot for speaking about such things."

Wanting to object, I went to say something, but she put up her hand in a stop motion.

Smiling apologetically and nodding for her to continue, I swallowed my words.

"However," she continued, "I have done so because it is important in our relationship. For me to remain uninfected and us to proceed with having more intimacy it is clear to me that what we have spoken about requires conversations. You asking me to share my thoughts and feelings when you carried me in here from your office is more than a requirement. You are asking me to speak of things that are taboo. They embarrass and shame me."

It was like she had lain out breadcrumbs and asking me to put the pieces together. It did not take long before it dawned on me that she was speaking about fantasies of a sexual manner.

Wanting to ease her discomfort, I assured her, "I too have thoughts reflecting desires that are far beyond what we have agreed."

She smiled broadly seemingly pleased with this knowledge.

"I apologise if my question implied my request for you to speak on such images," I offered to her. "Rather your expression baffled me and I was curious while also concerned."

She smiled relieved. "Thank you for clarifying. I should not have doubted your intent."

"An easy mistake," I insisted. Clarifying I explained, "It appeared that you were equally furious, joyful, pleasured, and fearful."

She smiled in understanding while she uttered, "Ah."

"Care to explain?" I pressed.

Her smiled turned to being indulgent. "Furious at how easily you moved me and that you did not ask. Joyful to see you behave so impromptu along with how you looked at me with adoration and reverence. Pleased that you were expressing through your actions your thoughts and preferences as well as that you seemed excited. Fearful at what would come next a little, but mostly that the realization that I have no knowledge of how strong you are. The way you moved the furniture implied stronger than even my father or cousins, even though you do not do the hard labour that fuels their strength. And even though I trust you to never hurt me, it places me in a vulnerable position that is intimidating. Then, from these thoughts bore the images that I would rather not share."

Appreciative of what she had divulged, as it allowed me to understand her better, I told her, "Thank you for your honesty." Pausing a moment, I disclosed, "Strength without hard labour is a side affect of the infection."

She gasped and her mouth opened. When she closed it she asked, "For both males and females?"

Wearily I answered, "I have met a few females infected and yes to your question."

She studied me with a barely veiled jealousy before schooling herself and carefully asking, "Could one day you demonstrate the limits of your strength?"

Sighing I answered, "Doing so would cross too far into the dangers I wish to keep you safe from."

Frowning, but with a look of understanding, she told me, "That is fine. I am just being curious. I trust in your judgement."

"Thank you," I uttered surprised at how easily she dropped the topic.

Kissing her knuckles, I stood and offered her my hand. She took it and when she was also standing I wrapped her in my arms I whispered in her ear, "My words of gratitude would never convey the honour and privilege of what you granted me this evening. You are astounding. No man could ask for a better wife than you my love."

Unexpectedly, more than our exploration, our talk seemed to have settled us both. Even though over the next couple of days we were touching each other slightly less than the days before her unrobing, we both seemed to be growing in comfort and confidence. Without doubt our next year would not look like our last.

We had decided to allow our first anniversary to pass with little fanfare, although I did take her out to eat at a high end restaurant and purchase her a small necklace of pearls. As expected she protested on the contention that she had nothing for me in exchange, but I insisted that she allow me to spoil her a little, pointing out that as a doctor's wife such items were expected and that her marrying me was a far greater gift than some small token.

It we were therefore as a couple more content and satisfied than we ever had been when we faced Mrs. Martin. Even though in my letter I had mentioned that Esme would be accompanying me, she seemed slightly surprised to see her with me.

"Dr. Cullen," she greeted me, "and Mrs. Cullen, please let us speak in my office."

Appreciative of the privacy we followed her.

After polite enquiries had been made I asked, "What do the upcoming school year positions look like at this time?"

Beside me I could sense that Esme had tensed, even though her tells were probably invisible to Mrs. Martin. Despite Esme's reaction, she said nothing. It was doubtful she would say anything at all, since she had insisted that she knew nothing about these aspects of working life, but had nevertheless agreed with my point about the value of her presence.

Frowning, Mrs. Martin answered, "Much like they were in my letter. We have hired a number of the returning men."

Nodding I pressed, "And my wife's position?"

Looking at me seriously, she divulged, "Truly, no one wants to lose her. The children respect her, the parents speak highly of her, and her colleagues also have given her flowering reviews. For my sake it is an easier sell to the board of trustees than say if it was a math position."

"So, what is the stumbling block?" I urged.

Her eyes roamed briefly at Esme before she asked, "May I speak candidly?"

Realizing she was expecting that her words would offend Esme, I agreed, "My wife is here because I believe it important she learn this aspect of acquiring a job as a married woman. The world will not always be as it is presently, and I wish to give my wife every opportunity to be as independent as she wishes."

She smiled slightly. "I would not have opened this school for girls, especially as it does not board, if I was not a forward thinking woman. Times are changing, and even though our soldiers are returning home, women need an education."

"Could not have said it better," I agreed.

She smiled a bit more with a glimmer in her eyes. "You, Dr. Cullen, remind me in many ways of my late husband, God rest his soul. He too believed that women should know how to navigate the working world. What I learned over our years of marriage made this school possible."

"Since you are being frank, so will I be," I told her. "What do you need to convince the Board of Trustees?"

She paused and clearly pondered the question. Without doubt she would have already considered her asking price, so I had to wonder what she was debating.

"Would you be willing to be a trustee?" she asked.

Her question surprised me, so it took me some thought before I answered, "I would be honoured. However, my position at the hospital is the night shift and there is some chance of being offered a position at another hospital. Consequently, attending meetings and the responsibilities of a trustee would be challenging at this point in my career. What if I offered the financial investment of a trustee without a vote instead?"

Esme grew tenser beside me. Even though she knew my approximate net worth, I suspected she was struggling to agree with me doing this on her behalf.

"I could see the board agreeing to such an arrangement," she offered even though she sounded uncertain of the words. Finally after long minutes she elucidated her tone, "However, it would require an unanimous agreement, as it would fundamentally alter the role of trustee."

"Understood," I permitted allowing her to know that I had been fully aware of the implication of what I had offered prior to my utterance.

She looked at me in an evaluation fashion, took a moment, and then informed me, "I shall send you a letter once they have decided."

"Good deal," I agreed please at the outcome.

"They will not meet until the end of the month, so do not expect a notice from me until after then," she warned me.

"Fair enough," I agreed.

After taking our leave Esme continued to stay quiet.

Later that evening she finally asked, "Why would you offer such a thing?"

"Money is easier than the politics," I explained.

"You know what I meant," she retorted her tone slightly irritated.

Sighing I divulged, "Remember the organization my accountant set up to fund your education?"

"Yes," she answered, but sounded slightly unsure.

"I need to close it or do something with it. Giving funds to the school without my presence, will hopefully allow my foundation to function and offer the incentive necessary for you to retain your job that you love and they want you to keep."

She eyed me carefully. Then, she confessed, "Even if you teach me the mechanics of finance, I do not think I will ever fully understand the political parts."

Considering this I told her, "I was both raised in a family, albeit different to how it is done here, where these types of deals were commonplace, and I have had my whole life to practice them. As I had told you previously, she needed to sell keeping you to the Board, and money usually is the way wheels get greased. It might not be right or fair, but it is how this world works."

Her eyes down she professed, "I do not like it. It creates a world where those without money to spare are at a disadvantage."

Putting my hand on hers, I agreed, "I too wished the world was more fair."

Her entire being looked sad and for a moment she almost looked child-like.

It dawned on me how easily my wish to protect her could keep her in an infantile state. However, I wanted her to be my equal in every way that was possible. To do that, she was going to encounter how unjust the world could be. She would get hurt and upset. She might even have to voice things she had been taught all of her life were taboo. Either way she would not remain in the dominated state of many women of the higher classes.

For a moment my instinct roared at me to put her in a glass case where none of those things could touch her, and she could remain as she was. Instantly, I swatted it away. She was a strong woman and her being so was a quality I admired. Protecting her from the world and thus limiting her growth as an individual was worse by my estimate. The question was how to support and love her through the bumps and bruises she was bound to encounter as she became more exposed to the less admirable aspects of human society. I had no quick or easy answers. My only thought was to have faith, something that thankfully was becoming less strenuous over time.

* * *

 _AN: So, originally the story was about 15 chapters. I wrote the outline of the story over two years prior to when I started posting. And then I realised while working on edits that I was missing content about Esme's job renewal, especially with the war ending, and and and. Suddenly, my story has grown by 4 chapters, and looks like it might add even more. ;-) lol Also, as I have been working on it, I had come to realise that when I originally wrote it I was in such a rush to get them to what happens next, that I left out critical plot developments. I'm beginning to see the gaps and fill them._ _The good news, is that the story is not ending soon.  
_

 _In the mean time, thank you for sticking by me as I grow as a writer. Each of your notes, thoughts, and comments have inspired me and allowed me to refine my skills. You are so much appreciated.  
_


	15. Uncomfortable Truths

**Chapter 15: Uncomfortable Truths**

* * *

Through the remaining days of April and then May, as our outer garments became lighter, we continued to explore each other's bodies over our clothing. She found moments to remove my tie and vest or tie, jacket, and dress vest depending on whether I worked that day or not. She touched my back a lot and a few times in our quiet readings would put her legs down on the ground and ask for mine. She never moved her hands above my knees, but it was, nonetheless, immensely pleasing. I did not undress her again. Doing so seemed to soothe the strange nervous restless energy she had on the days following, although we never spoke on the matter. Not to mention that her being clothed in more than only her undergarments helped me immensely.

She would still wear her nightgown with robe to read in the evenings on my days off, and I often used that time to massage her feet and calves. About once a fortnight, I had her come sit on the floor between my legs and massaged her shoulders as well as her neck. I had also taken to kissing her skin more often, becoming accustomed to the scent and taste that it left on my lips.

Ironically, the changes in our physical intimacies opened up avenues of new conversations. We debated the courting procedures of the era, the lack of education on marital matters, the age of marriage, the expectation of women to bear children, and how women's jobs were ended when they became married. These conversations gave me an insight into the lives of human women in a manner that I had never known before. For the first time in my life, a woman was schooling me. It was an enjoyable sensation.

More than once my mind wandered to thinking of Aro and how he would view my life. Each time the image conjured caused me to chuckle. When I compared my life to how things had been in the years before meeting Miss Platt or even in the years between us meeting and her becoming my wife, the difference was stark. Not only was there no melancholy in me, but my life contained fear, excitement, and joy in measures and ways that I had never experienced in all my existence. She had so changed me that I was loathed to consider what my life would look like when she left this earth. Consequently, any time the thought of her mortality arose I pushed it aside and insisted on focusing on the gifts of the present. It was odd to consider how the very exercise I had been using for centuries to remind myself of God's gifts and combat my melancholy was still being regularly employed, even though so much about my life was different.

By the end of May we received a letter from Mrs. Martin welcoming Esme back to teach in the upcoming year and asking me to come in to sign the contract at my earliest convenience. Esme was pleased and relieved by the letter, but there was a heaviness on her shoulders, like she was carrying the world, that had not been there the year prior. Hopefully, her exposure to the realities of the world would not change her for the worse.

In June a packet arrived with the financial expectations of being an honorary trustee. No questioning on my part was needed regarding the title, as it seemed clear to me that they wanted the money without giving me the title, no doubt due to my stipulation of not participating. Esme did not seem to notice at all, or at least said nothing, so I accepted their attempt at a slight with no reaction. The only part that mattered to me was Esme's employment papers. Dismissing these inconsequential things, I sent the papers to my accountant and told him to sort it.

Ever since our last formal lesson regarding my financial holdings, once a month Esme and I had sat down together and reviewed my accounts. At the end of June when she looked over things she got the same look that she had last month.

Fortunately, this time she found the courage to ask, "Do you not need to pay taxes?"

Aware that we were probably heading into rocky waters I hedged my answer a little, "My accountant does the books and then gives me the figures."

She looked at me crossly clearly taking note that I had sidestepped the question. Nevertheless, she did not call me on it and instead asked, "What if he is swindling you?"

Puzzled and concerned my face twisted.

Noting my expression, she explained, "My father did his own books. More than once I heard him complaining about how accountants take the cream off the top."

Feeling calmer, as it seemed that her question was more a comparison to her father, I told her, "It is often financially more prudent for small business owners like your father to do their own books. However, for someone like myself with so many different holdings it is not. I actually pay him a yearly fee irrelevant of how much work he does."

She seemed to be considering my explanation before asking, "And you trust him?"

"I am not an expert on tax codes," I allowed, "but I have never found any grievous errors, as he sends them to me to review and sign before they are turned into the government with my payment."

She pressed her lips together, and then the look she had worn before her questioning returned causing me to become concerned once more.

"Then can you explain why the money to pay for my education was listed in years past in your ledgers the way you have and you have placed the funds to Oxford School in the same way?" she questioned her tone being mostly confused with a hint of distaste and irritation.

Understanding her confusion and sighing in defeat of her letting this slide, I braced myself for her ire expecting my answer would be contrary to her sense of justice.

Nonetheless, I explained, "This money was placed in a legal entity from my personal incomes, but that legal entity and its money reduces my tax burden, as it is philanthropy."

She scrunched up her face and after a few minutes hesitantly asked, "You pay less taxes on the money you make because you give some of it away?"

"Precisely," I told her proud at her for making the connection and weary for the outcome of the conversation that was drawing near.

"Then, even though your income is higher, you might pay less taxes than say my father did, because you give away some?" she checked her tone becoming more irritated.

"Yes," I confirmed putting my hand on her shoulder.

"That is unacceptable," she seethed. "A hard working man pays a higher percentage of his income than a wealthy man, simply because he cannot afford to give his money away."

Saying nothing more, I kept my hand on her.

After a few minutes her ire decreased and she told me pained, "This world is leant in favour of those who already have money."

"Yes," I agreed. "Has been for as long as I can remember."

"Is this why you offered to bribe them?" she accused.

"It is not fair, for sure," I agreed, "that because I bribed an education institution that I benefit. I told you before the world is not fair. But that is not why I did it. I would have done it irrelevant of how it affected my books. I cannot have children, but I can use my money to support them in having a good education. And since it also allows my wife to be happy, how could I resist?"

She tried to scowl at me, but instead huffed slightly irritated, "When you say it like that." Then after a pause she added softly, "Those with money write the rules to benefit themselves, while the likes of my father toil the soil and are lucky to afford the tools needed for the next year."

Even though I was glad her ire had not lasted long nor had any dire impacts on our relationship, it had highlighted a concerning aspect of her. Despite everything I had offered her, how much she had changed, and how different to her family she had inevitable become, she still saw herself as a farmer's daughter. Because whether she wanted to think of it or not, she had become a member of the very class of people she was railing again. Thus, her reality was not matched by her self-concept.

Ignoring the incongruence for the time being and frowning in agreement with her assessment, I voiced my perspective, "It is the way of things. I try to make a positive impact on the world. I support organizations that seem to be doing good and work in the hospital, even though financially it is unnecessary. I try to leave each place I live a little better than I found it, but I must also have enough money that if anyone were to find out my condition, that I could bribe my way out of trouble and then run and hide. I am not particularly fond of the inequality of the world. But, in fairness, there is more justice here than where I grew up. Hopefully, that is progress of some kind."

"Perhaps in another hundred years the world will be more equal," she offered hopefully, even though her disappointment was still present in her tone.

"Women will become architects and each man pays his equal share for the betterment of society. It is a wonderful world you have dreamed, my wife. May God make it so," I stated with a smile.

She smiled a little bit at me, as if she were trying to agree with my sentiment but was still too pained to do so. Then, after a minute she steadied herself, smiled more genuinely, and insisted, "Anything is possible."

"How right you are dear," I concurred.

So many things had changed over two hundred years there was no saying what might happen in the next hundred. She could well be correct.

After some silence I spoke once more, "I am loathed to bring it up, but I am concerned for you."

Her right eyebrow lifted. "How so?" she asked.

"Even if you were raised in a farming family, you have changed your social class," I pointed out. "Your schooling alone took you out of that world. But, more than anything, you marrying me clenched you out of that world and into mine."

With definance and almost haughiness to rebuked me, "I shall always be a farmer's daughter."

Smiling sadly at her I told her, "You will always carry the lessons your parents taught you, and certainly that will make you different than other doctor's wives, but my love, these injustices you dislike benefit you because they benefit me."

She sighed and frowned. "I know." After a minute she added, "But I would rather pay an equal share, so that the likes of my cousins could pay less."

"As would I," I supported. Smiling at how opinionated Esme had become, I thought about how so many men of this era would be appalled in how I had encouraged her to find her voice. At that thought, I imagined Esme at a podium in front of a capital arguing for equal treatment. Chuckling to myself at the image, I teased, "Are you going to run for office then?"

"Doctor Cullen," she admonished with a shocked look. Then in a quiet voice teased back, "You sure are a scallywag at times."

Then we both chuckled and the seriousness of the moment was lost.

However, after that conversation she started reading the paper in a different way. She regularly brought up discussions about the workings and actions of rich men. Additionally, the laws of the government seemed more serious to her than ever before. The actions of the labour moments became a common topic, as well as how different candidates supported or rejected the demands of workers. Esme often postulated that labourers having a living wage would be only advantageous if the government did not take it all in taxes. Even though she refused to be political and dodged such conversations outside our home, it had taken centre stage in our lives.

My hope was that over time her struggle with these topics would wane as she found herself secure in her own thoughts on such matters. As an added bonus, it caused me to think on these topics in ways I had not. My position as a victor's son and then being a vampire had removed me from the fervency in which Esme saw the world. The more she spoke, the convicted I became that my eyes had been closed to the plights of others. Where I saw it as just the way things were, she saw opportunities to improve the world. Perhaps she was correct that humans could reduce the ills of their fellow human beings, but I had witnessed three centuries of how humans used their power and institutions to harm others. Maybe because of my father I held individual lives as beautiful creations and the structures they created as dangerous things. In comparison, Esme saw them as potential agents of improving all lives, irrelevant of social status.

In July, less than a week prior to Esme's 24th birthday, she veered from our usual topics into something that I could have never anticipated.

She interrupted our companionable silence as we sat on the sofa reading. "Carlisle, do tell, what kind of undergarments do you usually prefer?"

My mouth opened, "What?" I sputtered.

"We have already established that you have excellent hearing, Dr. Cullen. Please answer the question," she stated nonchalantly, but I suspected she was pleased with her ability to shock me.

"What do you need to know that for?" I asked unwilling to talk about this. "I do not make enquiries about your undergarments."

In addition to not wanting to place undue burdens on her I did not want to take the chance she would notice how my clothes did not contain perspiration. Consequently, I had continued to employ a laundry services and insisted Esme add her garments to avoid her handling my intimates. And even though Esme had relented to using the service, she had from the beginning ironed my shirts and pants, even though they came back pressed, and then hung them, but had respected my request that she leave the rest for me to put away.

It must have been something from my human years that incredibly embarrassed me about a woman knowing such thing about me, as my mind was well aware that in most marriages the woman would be responsible for all the steps of a man having clean clothing at hand. Mostly I had convinced myself that my insistence on the laundry service and me handling my own undergarments was to maintain my secret, but my reaction to her question said otherwise. Maybe one day my memory related to this topic would be returned to me. Understanding myself in this way or not, I still did not want to answer her question.

"No, but you have seen mine, so no inquiry is needed, whereas I, on the other hand, hold no such privilege," she pointed out.

I had no retort, despite me spending quite a bit of mental energy attempting to find one, and quickly ascertained that this feisty lawyer Esme that had been developing since our conversation about taxes was not someone to go against when she set her mind to something.

Trying to find a way out, I asked, "May I ask why you are suddenly interested in this topic?"

"Well," she began looking a little nervous but continuing on, "I overheard two married women younger than me in the changing stalls next to me talking through the divide about their delight in the more modern male undergarments, something about having easier access. I dislike not knowing about such things, especially when according to my peers I should."

"Did they place you in an awkward position?" I wondered.

From overhearing the nurses I knew that females had a pecking order and a woman could be looked upon badly if she was ill informed or had no knowledge of topics that were expected.

"No, Carlisle, I know how to handle such situations," she stated sounding slight disgruntled at my question. "I simply told them that I did not discuss such private matters in public and left them in the stalls."

"Ah, well yes," I stated flustered. After a moment I relented, "I do not wish to place you in awkward positions due to my limitations."

"I like how things have been progressing, Carlisle," she told me with a tone meant to soothe. "They might be slower than most couples, but they work for us. If my mother's warnings are to be any indication, being intimate with a man is not pleasant for the woman, and we are advised just force ourselves to get through it, because husbands gives them little other options. I am not upset or complaining in any way. It is simply that if I am meant to be knowledgeable in the ways of a married woman, then some information about things I have not yet experienced might help keep busybodies at bay," she explained.

Undoubtedly she spoke the truth, but the excitement she held inside her suggested that she was genuinely curious in her own right.

"Alright then," I surrendered still incredibly uncomfortable. "Do you wish to know about the topic in general or me specifically?"

Her excitement grew. "Would you be willing to give me both?" she hedged.

I nodded, and a smile crossed her face that I suspect she had been trying to contain.

"Most men of the lower classes have worn for many decades now a knit garment made from wool or cotton called a union suit," I explained starting with the most academic aspects. "They are a one piece article that goes from the ankles covering the whole body up to the neck and then with long sleeves. It is mostly a protection from the cold. As my skin is already colder than most, I do not feel the coldness in this way, but still wear the garment to not attract attention."

She looked at me knowingly, so I responded with a questioning look.

"My father wore those," she explained. "Please continue," she urged.

Taking stock in myself, I remembered how many times Esme had spoken about matters that made her uncomfortable. If she could force herself through the discomfort for my sake, then I would her hers.

Trying to look less pained and more willing, I told her, "However, given my wages, I have purchased ones made with higher quality cotton or sometimes silk imported from the Orient. My skin is highly sensitive, so the higher end union suits are more agreeable to me. In the last decade a new union suit has come out which starts at the knees and is sleeveless. This is often worn in the summer as it is lighter, but still offers some protection to the body. I usually do not wear these types of union suits as explaining cold hands is much easier than a cold shoulder and the full union suit along with my dress garments often disguises my skin's temperature better."

Her heart had begun to thump slightly faster and the scent in the air made it clear that this conversation was pleasing to her. Nevertheless, her face was serious as if she were in a lecture hall.

"The new style, most likely due to the war, is a two piece where the bottoms are separate from the top. I have seen them in the shop, and can see the convenience in terms of getting dressed and undressed, but I will continue to wear my one piece full length union suit until I can no longer get away with it."

After a moment's thought she questioned sounding confused, "Why would you not be able to get away with it?"

"Other doctors would find it suspicious that I do not change with the times," I explained.

She nodded knowingly before summarizing, "So under your outer garments you prefer a covering from your ankles to your elbows, much like my father's, but of a finer quality?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

Esme appeared to be puzzling something out, so I expected a follow up question. However, there was an extenuatingly long pause, so it seemed like the conversation was completed.

Except, just as I went back to my readings, Esme asked clearly excited while also nervous about the question, "You said your skin is very sensitive. When I touch you, even though you have two or even up to five layers of clothes on, can you feel me?"

Looking back up at her, I frowned. Did humans not feel touch through their clothing? She had reacted as if she had.

"Very much so," I confirmed before getting lost in my thoughts disgruntled with myself for not divulging this earlier. "I feel the pressure you place, even the slightest amount. I feel the heat you radiate. It is exquisite and although not as overpowering as it once was, still overwhelming to my senses at times."

She looked pleased at my confession. Perhaps she had worried about this trivial matter. She often seemed overly concerned that I was satisfied with her. My hope was that these concerns would wane with time.

After a few minutes had passed and my mind could not stop wondering how much of my conclusions from my observations were accurate, I asked, "Do you feel my touch through you clothes?"

She appeared flustered. After some moments she collected herself, straightened her back, and with a cool collectedness finally spoke, "My answer is very similar to yours, Carlisle. At times I believe that I am more in tune with you than anyone else because even when you are near I feel you. When you touch me even casually I can feel the slight pressure of your finger or hand, the chilliness seeping through, and a warm buzzing that zips through my body. Then, when you touch my skin it is like every nerve ending in that part of my body becomes electrified and overly aware of you. On occasion it is too much sensation."

Seeing her force herself to answer my questions quieted any linger doubts I had held whether answering her questions that seemed taboo to me had been the best thing to do. For sure, it had been. Once my mind found rest regarding that topic, it latched onto her answer.

The similarities in her description to what were my experiences were astonishing. From my observations and according to Aro biologically vampire skin was more sensitive. Nevertheless, it seemed like her body was pushing her to its furthermost edges, causing it to come quite close in description to my own. Without doubt her words that it was at times too much for her were true.

With appreciation coating my tone I told her with earnestness, "Thank you for sharing. Your description helped me understand what you are experiencing. Please remember that anytime you are overwhelmed to let me know and we can pause or even stop."

"Same for you?" she questioned in a challenging tone.

"Naturally," I agreed easily.

We slipped into a comfortable silence. As I reviewed what had been said, it became clear that even though the topic had been uncomfortable to me, it had led to a greater understanding between us. Realizing that I needed to remember that lesson for the future, I went back to reading. Although Esme had a book in her hands, her eyes indicated that she was lost in thought.

Then out of the blue she blurted, "Do you think the woman meant easier access in the convenience you mentioned?"

My brain seemed to slow down at her question, and I nearly took back my recent decision. Instead, I reminded myself the value of such exchanges and so wished her mother would have explained more to her.

"No, Esme," I sputtered.

"What do you think they meant then?" she asked curious and perhaps pleased at my discomfort, as she had a devious look in her eye.

"The union suits, particularly the older ones, take time to gain access to a man's skin. The modern two piece would have significantly less obstacles," I told her hoping she would make the mental connection on her own.

"Oh," she said frowning in concentration. After a few minutes she added, "Oh," with a deep throatiness as if she had just discovered something taboo. Then after more minutes of silence where I watched her in fascination, she looked up at me and asked bashfully, "Do you think those women enjoy touching their husbands?"

"What were you thinking?" I asked deflecting her question.

"Yes, and they might even be talking about having access to their husband's member. I do not know what to think about that." Then her voice grew solemn. "In some ways I wish I was more like them, less timid. Perhaps it is the warnings you have given me, but I feel like there is something wrong with me."

Saddened that she felt that way, even in the smallest ways I took my hand and ran it slowly up her leg to her knee. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," she replied easily adding, "I always like it when you touch me."

"But you are nervous about me touching you in more private ways?" I questioned.

"Yes, although less so as the times go by," she answered with her brazen vulnerability.

"And do you enjoy touching me?" I asked.

"Yes, although I wish to touch you more," she confessed.

"More how?" I wondered curious.

"Without your shirt and pants, in just your union suit," she declared softly. "But I am waiting for you to be ready."

"And I am waiting for you to be ready to explore places I have not yet, but I am uncertain if I am ready, so I have not pursued this, even though you state you are ready. Is this not what we agreed?" I asked checking that we were still on the same page.

"It is, Carlisle," she confirmed with a complex mixture of emotions.

Curious about her expression, but wanting to make my point first, I questioned her with strength as her answer was important, "Can I tell you a secret if you do not repeat it?"

"Yes," she told me with strength looking at me curiously.

"I overhear women a lot, the nurses in particular," I confided. "They cannot know that I hear them, so I cannot tell them their conversations are not private."

Her mouth opened into a little o.

"So, from what I have overheard, most women are terrified their first time and it is mostly painful or at least uncomfortable. But the thing is, you see, that the body is made for procreation, so it fills both the male and female with hormones and other chemicals that make coupling feel good and the chemicals produced have an addictive nature to them. Each person craves to reproduce the elements that fill their body with those feel good chemicals. As a result, individuals ignore or repress their fears or discomforts. I have asked you not to do this. More so, I have done the opposite. I have asked you to pay attention to those signs and to use them as signals for us to stop or slow down.

"I do not want you to have the experiences that I have overheard. I do not want you to be conflicted. Most women seem to talk about their fears and struggles, but unable to voice them to their husband in concern of disappointing him or him seeking sex with someone else. In this place and time women are expected to take what their husband give them and be grateful, despite what they might feel, and like the warning from your mother, are told that if they do not do so, then their husband's lack of fidelity is their fault. These things are not true. Even if you did not please me in these ways, which you do absolutely, it would be my fault for being unfaithful.

"I am very different from my colleagues in many ways, more than just the physical difference. As you know, I was raised with a different set of moral and ethical codes than the ones surrounding me. I follow my own sense of right and wrong, so that often means that I will not act in ways that others around me do. This also means that you will be outside of your peers. Hopefully, that was made clear to you in our courtship."

"Yes, Carlisle, I was aware," she grumbled.

Concerned with what her answer might be conveying, I dropped the topic of conversation and asked, "What has caused that tone, Esme?"

"You seem to still believe that I did not enter into this union willingly and with full thought regarding the ramifications of my choice. It is insulting, Carlisle," she blurted out and then covered her mouth as if wishing to take the words back.

"It is, is it not?" I mused out loud. Looking at her, it became clear how much this had upset her.

She looked mortified and apprehensive. Certainly it was the first time she had spoken so bluntly to me or defended herself in such a way, but her fear disturbed me. Was she expecting me to chastise her in some way? Husbands disciplining their wives was common enough in this era, yet I did not want to believe she would think me to be such a man. Quickly I realized that like many other things, she would only grow in confidence in these matters over time. My actions would be my response.

It took only a few seconds to realize that it was my own insecurities and confusion that had given rise to such an opinion. Once more it showed how much I had to learn and what a better husband I could be. Doing so would be a task for the future, but for the moment I needed to make amends with my wife. "There is no need to be nervous of speaking truth to me Esme. I am not a perfect man, and if we are to be equals, then pointing out when I error is expected. More, it is a gift. How else am I to improve? Not to mention I owe you an apology. I was not intending to insult your intelligence. I am simply still in disbelief that you agreed to this."

Her whole body relaxed in relief, then she became serious. She tucked her legs under her and then moved towards me. When she came to me she placed her hand under my jaw and indicated that she wanted me to move it towards her.

I complied wondering what had gotten into her.

"Hear me well, Dr. Carlisle Cullen," she stated with stern authority. "I am here of my own free will. I chose you despite your warnings because I love you. I have been in love with you since I was sixteen. My childish infatuation and crush turned into admiration and respect, and then friendship over the years, but never once did I not love you. I cannot stop loving you, and I suspect that you could harm me greatly and I would still love you.

"You are what my heart has wanted, does want, and will want. It is so strong that sometimes I think it will crush me. When you touch me it is like everything is meaningless except you. I do not like the power you hold over me at times, but you do so gently and with respect. Thus, I am beginning to trust that you will not misuse it, but mark my words, I do not want you to ever doubt in my love for you. It is insulting and hurtful." Then she leaned in giving me a kiss that was searing and passionate. It was the kind of pressure and heat with her scent that called to me.

I was grateful when she moved away from me back to her end of the sofa and disappointed it ended. I licked my lips and brought her saliva into my mouth. It was indescribably pleasing. Certainly, I wore a look of a drunken man for many minutes as I tried to both catalogue all of what made her flavour and recover from what she had done to me.

She wore a look of satisfaction that I had not seen on her before. She sat there watching me waiting for me to compose myself.

Eventually I looked over to her lovingly and told her, "I sincerely apologise Mrs. Cullen for my doubt. I had no idea you felt as you have articulated so eloquently. I could never have imagined that you held such strong sentiments for me."

She looked at me like I was an idiot, and perhaps I was. Underneath the expression were the tiny signs that my words had hurt her.

Even though I was loathed to cause her any greater discomfort, my realization of how my insecurities, assumptions, and opinions had created an incorrect assessment of her, I forced the words from my lips, "In the chance of offending you once more, I must ask. Are you quite certain that your attachment to me was from sixteen?"

Her face scowled and her eyes burned with fury. "Why else on earth would I invite you back to my home and risk my father's wrath not to mention my mother's scolding?"

Flustered I tried to come up with a reasonable answer. I knew she had been attracted to me, but most humans were. The only aspect of her reaction to me that had stood out was that she never expressed any fear regarding my proximity, which was unusual, but would not have indicated the emotional response she was describing.

Her eyes narrowed in a way that implied a requirement of me answering her questions soon.

"I am concerned that my answer will offend you," I confessed.

"Speak, Carlisle," she commanded me while she appeared to be bracing herself. "I am a grown woman."

Taking a deep breath, pulling her into my lungs before exhaling, I prayed that our conversation would not end the progress of our relationship. All this time my fear had been in her learning the truth regarding my nature, but for the first time, a secondary fear arose. If her sentiments were as strong as she was describing, there was a fair chance that I could cause her irrevocable emotional harm. More than once in the hospital I had witnessed patients dying from grief or their minds breaking due to the emotional toll of events they had experienced. She insisted she was strong, and certainly this last year had shown me the extent of her emotional strength. At the same time, each person had a limit, and for the first time it dawned on me that I did not know her well enough to know hers.

Holding her gaze, it became clear that for the time being I had no other choice than to trust her to know her own limits. Then, her features changed as if had read my reluctance and she stared at me in a challenge. Her doing so created a chuckle inside of me. Not only was she not afraid of me, like most humans, but added to that she was challenging me with only her eyes. I had trusted her to find a third way multiple times, and she had. I trusted her to pay attention to her own body and inform me when she was hesitant or reluctant. It was not a stretch to trust her to know her own limits regarding her emotional capacities.

Knowing she had just insisted she was strong enough with her words and her eyes, I told her, "Many women, both patients and nurses, have expressed their attraction to me over the years, even before I met you, that I pay it little attention. At the time I honestly thought little about your invitation, except to note that you had made one."

Her jaw dropped and she looked hurt, but not in a shattered completely kind of way.

Trying to find words to explain my perspective, in the vain hopes the elucidation would decrease the pain she was exhibiting, I said, "In my defence, a woman inviting a man to her home was not terribly uncommon where I was raised." Noticing this did little to help her, I stated sadly, "I have upset you."

"No," she retorted and then after a glance at me stated, "Yes, but only because you made such a great impact on me and your words suggest that I was inconsequential in yours."

Shocked at her conclusions and upset at her words, I declared strongly, "I said no such thing."

She pursed her lips. Her eyes conveyed that she was musing over our exchange and trying to discover her misunderstanding. After a few minutes she stopped, looked at me, and simply asked, "Then what are you saying?"

Pleased that she was aware of the misunderstanding and trying to correct it rather than jumping to conclusions, I explicated, "I am saying that your invitation made little impact on me. You, however, made a great impact upon me."

Her eyelids fluttered multiple times.

It was a human reaction I had noticed that often coincided with being overwhelmed with information. I could not help but wonder which part of our conversation she was struggling with.

Then, before I got the chance to enquire, she asked me her voice full of surprise, "I did?"

Knowing my questions could wait, smiling I told her, "Yes. Each day after my shift I went and prayed trying to find answers to why you had impacted me so. It was your words, our conversation, your interests, your passion that caught my attention, Esme. And although I find you to be a beautiful woman, and you have only grown in beauty over the years, I am not interested in such surface matters. Beauty is both fleeting and meaningless, ultimately. Who you are, how your mind works are much more appealing to me, although I have to admit that I have grown more responsive to your appearance as time has gone by," I divulged in a hope to tame my brutal truth, despite doing so embarrassing me.

She looked less upset, yet puzzled. "So, if my invitation made no great impact upon you, how did you end up at my house?"

It was an excellent question, and despite my best efforts to find the answer over the years, I still did not have clarity.

As such, I attempted to explain in the best manner possible, "I did hear your invitation and given my interest in our interactions, considered it. I was on a walk and my feet took me to you. I have no better way of explaining it."

She smiled sweetly. "Why does that not surprise me? In intellectual matters, Dr. Cullen I have never encountered your equal. Whereas in matters of the heart you seem particularly dim-witted."

Even though her words were slightly insulting, her tone indicated that she meant in a playful manner. Despite its bantering tone, I took the time to consider the validity of them.

After thorough consideration of her conclusions, I had to agree, "I trust your assessment is true."

"Generally women are wiser about matters of the heart, at least according to my mother," Esme muttered in a dismissive, if not slightly frustrated tone.

"She might very well be correct on this matter," I agreed, as Esme certainly had more insight and wisdom in many matters regarding feelings than I, and it was something I had witnessed time and time again with nurses.

Esme looked deep in thought, so I let her be even though I had at least a dozen of my own question and waited for her to voice whatever she was contemplating. Eventually she looked up at me and slowing some softly asked, "Do you think love and attraction go together?" Her voice indicated that this was merely one of our philosophical conversations, but her countenance appeared vulnerable.

Interestingly, in all our conversations either in print, over the phone, or in person, this particular topic had never arisen. It also was not something I had previously considered wanting to know her opinions on. However, once she voiced the question, the topic seemed greatly important. Consequently, I gave the matter some thought before responding.

"Not necessarily, particularly for men, but also for some women. It even seems at times that the needs of each gender are different. It appears that in terms of attraction men are usually pulled towards particular outward markers that indicate health and the ability to bear children, whereas women are attracted to markers of being protected. These indicators say nothing regarding the emotion that can bind a couple. However, I think attraction is increased in multitudes when there is also affection for one another, even more when there is respect, care, and admiration."

She nodded considering my words, and then pointed out, "Even if that fits me to some degree, it fits you even less." Then, after a pause asked, "Are you suggesting that the markers which usually bring a couple together do not apply to us?"

Surprised at her conclusion, as it had never accorded to me prior, I, nevertheless, had to agree. What had first caught my attention was her lack of fear, and even if my position of a doctor appealed to her attraction of a protector, certainly our blunt conversation about a courtship would have challenged that concept.

"What did attract you to accept my offer then?" I asked curious.

She looked down at her hands clearly uncomfortable. Eventually she told me, "Apart from my crush, it was our friendship. You offered me freedom and friendship."

Not truly understanding what she meant, I asked no more, not wanting to make her even more uncomfortable. Wanting to ease her discomfort, I told her, "For me what most impressed me when we met was how brave you were. It imprinted itself upon me beyond measure."

"So, we really do not fit your typical models that you described?" she mused.

"No I suppose not," I had to agreed, "but our mutual respect, camaraderie, trust, and care for one other seems like things to treasure. I have no desire to be like everyone else."

Seeming to take my words to heart she said nothing for a few minutes, and then she blurted out, "Are you not fond of the word love, Carlisle?"

Given her question was not even close to the topic at hand, I sputtered taken off guard.

Even though she seemed a little flustered, she looked at me in expectation of a reply.

After collecting myself and studiously considering her question I told her, "Love was not a word I grew up with. My father not once, to my recollection, told me that he loved me. I am certain that he cared for me, so I guess I would have to say that I would not know what love is."

Her eyes opened wider with my answer and then she had a look like something had clicked into place for her all while she mumbled, "Hmm." Taking time to sort through her thoughts, she eventually asked, "What words would you use, then, to describe your sentiments towards me?"

"Affection, respect, admiration, care, a sense of protectiveness, a feeling of belonging and togetherness," I listed easily.

"I see," she replied pursing her lips. She paused before continuing. "And how would you define love?"

Without thought I answered, "An emotion that develops over time that is an expression of great and continued affection and care for another."

"And attraction?" she asked after a few moments.

"A biological and physiological response to the outward appearance of another," I replied easily.

"You sound like a dictionary, Carlisle," she accused me.

"Sorry?" I replied uncertain if that was a bad thing or not.

"It is fine," she assured me, "just apparent that you've given much more thought to attraction than love."

"Love is foreign to me. Attraction is not," I stated hoping my honesty on this matter would not offend her.

"Hmm," she mumbled again. "In that case, when were you first attracted to me according to your definition?"

Taking some time to review my memories, I eventually disclosed, "The first time I noticed myself attracted to you was when I came to your school for the first time."

She frowned.

"In my defence," I added fearing that I had once again offended her, "from my perspective sixteen would be too young for me to have such feelings towards you."

She appeared puzzled once more. "But I had begun receiving my monthly visitor. My mother said I was old enough."

"Well, my only explanation is that I am not from here," I said softly hoping I had dodged the landmines of this topic.

She looked directly at me. "I do not know what to think about the fact that I held amorous feelings for you over the last eight years, and you seemingly asked to court me without reciprocating."

"My parent's marriage was arranged and mine most possibly would have been as well if I had not left," I told her in an attempt to explain, "so, to me lustful feelings are not critical to courtship."

Her mouth fell open and she simply stared at me far longer than was socially acceptable.

"I just … I mean … really? … how?" she sputtered. Eventually she collected herself and asked, "Did your father have someone in mind?"

"If he did, I was never aware," I replied suddenly saddened at the awareness of how much control my father had over my life.

Even for the era in which I had been human he had more power over me than most fathers over their sons. All these centuries later my only conclusion was that it was how he demonstrated his care for me. He wanted the best for me, of that there was no doubt. He just seemed to believe that what he chose for my life would be far better than anything I would have chosen for myself. He had been the third son of a nobleman. I was the first. Was there some difference there? How I wished for answers, but there were only flimsy guesses and hypotheses.

Esme pulled me out of my ruminations when she asked shaking her head slightly, "And you just up and left?"

Her body language seemed to indicate that she was trying to imagine my description and was failing. Trying to assist her in connecting the dots, I added, "I became infected and was afraid for my father and village members, so left."

She shook her head again like that was not the part she had been having trouble conceiving.

Then, with trepidation in her eyes she asked her tone covered in concern, "There is no woman promised to you hanging out in England somewhere?"

Without pause I smiled enjoying her slight jealous display, and then quickly chastised myself for finding pleasure in her discomfort.

Needing to put her at ease, I clarified, "No, Esme. Certainly, I am considered dead." Taking a long purposeful breath in order to evaluate her state, I continued, "Please accept my apology for any doubt upon your character or affection that I might have insinuated."

She looked at me seriously. "Apology accepted." After a few minutes she spoke softly, "If it helps at all Carlisle, my primary motivation when it comes to you has always been my feelings, but after your appalling proposal I was forced to be more logical about things. Apart from the fact that being your wife is my youthful dream come true, you offered me things no man ever had before, and as a result becoming your wife also became the most rational choice available."

This mental calculation I understood and did assist me, while simultaneously allowing me to see clearly how insulting to her my doubts had been.

"Forgive my insecurities," I offered to her.

"Forgiven," she told me easily. Then she paused and looked at me seriously. "I cannot deny my desire for you. I am incredibly attracted to you at a physical level, but you need to know that is not why I married you. And although I loved you since sixteen, it was not even my wish to have a marriage of the heart that caused me to say yes. Ultimately, my answer was based on me weighing the costs you detailed against the kind of life you described."

Taking her hand in my mine, I brought it to my lips, "Thank you for your honesty and taking the time to consider my proposal. I am aware that being my wife is not the easiest."

"No marriage is easy," she rebutted, "but ours suits me just fine."

Smiling at her in gratitude, I tried to find words to convey my sentiments.

Lost in my thoughts she suddenly asked me, "So shall you read to me tonight?" as if the conversation had never passed.

Even though I wanted to speak more on the manner, it seemed like she needed to let it go, so I followed her lead hoping that we could speak more about this when she was ready.

This conversation, no matter its strange start, seemed to impact Esme in a way that I could not name.

The next night I had off when she rose in her custom to go to sleep she asked me, "Tonight would you be willing to touch me in my undergarments like you did last time?"

Her question took me off guard. It was certainly not the usual way she left for bed. Without pause her words stirred my arousal. I considered asking what had brought on this brazenness, but did not, too afraid of how the question might upset her or where the conversation might lead. Even though she was strong, I could not forget to be mindful of her emotions. I had yet been able to say no to her when she was in this brave vulnerable state, and doubted I would ever be able to.

Swallowing my questions and my nervousness, I simply replied, "Yes, Mrs. Cullen, if that would please you, I would be willing to oblige your request."

Smiling appearing pleased as well as relieved, she instructed. "Come, then, let us go to my bedroom." She held out her hand standing up.

Placing my hand in hers, I allowed her to lead me.

Whatever had brought on Esme's request I had to trust was important. We had done this before and I knew how to keep her safe. At least that was what I tried to convince myself.

* * *

 _A/N: I had so much fun researching about men's underwear in 1919, even more than women's for the last chapter. I'm such a nerd. Mostly it was fun for all the things they had published about it, whereas for women it was much more difficult to get accurate information. It's interesting how these small things show the misogyny of the time. Simultaneously, the Great War significantly impacted the alterations of clothes, but particularly underwear for men and women. It's incredible to think of how much rations and rationing altered the country at the time._

 _I have to admit that I have been feeling a bit discouraged this past month. It has been your comments that have reminded me that the story is being appreciated. Thank you so much for the encouragement!_


	16. Research Needed

**Chapter 16: Research Needed**

* * *

Once we were in her bedroom and she turned towards me, she looked nervous and excited, while her body had already begun perfuming the room with her desire.

"Are you sure, Esme?" I asked cautiously still concerned about what had brought this on and not wishing to do anything without her consent.

"Yes, Carlisle," she stated sounding emphatic. "It seems silly to ask you to do what I have been told is a requirement of my role as a wife, but yes, exactly as last time, and then we will see."

I considered pressing her once more, but as I had already begun holding my breath, decided to save my air.

As before, I started by taking the pins out of her hair and allowing it to cascade down her back. This time I added taking the tips of my fingers and massaging her scalp. She seemed to appreciate this, as she pressed her head slightly into my fingertips while they moved. More than twenty minutes passed and her features changed. The urgency had waned some and she looked more serene. With this as encouragement I moved to her back and started undoing the buttons of her dress, as I did each night, only I did so more slowly while rubbing the pad of my thumb on each part of her undergarment as it became exposed.

Moving in the same way that I had the last time, I explored the skin of her shoulders, top of her back, neck, and collarbone with my nose while adding kisses. At times my lips offered a simple peck and at other times they lingered on her skin. Despite the intense desire to lick my lips in order to taste the cells that would have become adhered, I restrained myself knowing that if I did such a thing I could not kiss her again until my lips had dried once more. My concern that extending the time and lingering on these areas more than I had before might upset her proved false. Rather, in fact, by the time that I had moved from her neck, along with a small massage, to her shoulders, also with a small massage, and arrived at her upper back small moans were being uttered behind her lips.

"Shall I stop?" I breathed into her ear speaking mere centimetres from her.

She seemed to need to catch her breath before she replied, "No, you are quite all right," but her voice sounded groggy and scratchy.

It was enjoyable to know that my actions, although quite mild by general standards, were creating such a reaction in her. From then on, in order to save my breath, I interpreted her moans to mean that what I was doing pleased her. Since she seemed to enjoy the kisses, I repeated the same actions on her left and then right arm while removing them from the dress' sleeve. I found myself lingering in her palms, giving each a kiss and taking in a deep breath. I had discovered weeks into our marriage that smelling her hands was my favourite part of her to smell. It contained not just her sweet aroma, but also miniscule amounts of the day's past. In this case there was paint and books, ink and paper, and the slightest amount of other humans, most likely children by the tone in the flavour.

This time, once her arms were taken out of the dress, she did not try to hold it up, so it slid right off her collecting in a pool below her feet.

After taking a moment to collect myself in reaction to her stunning beauty in her undergarments, I extended my hand, which she took. Following a few moments, giving her time to orientate herself to my non-verbal request, she stepped over her dress, and I led her to sit down on her bed. I picked up the dress and opening the door to the armoire draped it over the door. When I looked back at Esme I noticed that she appeared flush, and her heart was beating slightly faster.

"Esme?" I asked her concerned. "What is it?"

"You … just … you …" she stuttered.

Cocking my head slightly to the side and stepping towards her, even though it seemed extremely unlikely, I ran through all her vitals to ensure that I had not harmed her in some way or that she was not sick. I had been very careful with my venom and believed that she had not been exposed. However, her behaviour was extremely odd.

At a loss understanding what was happening to her my patience decreases and I encouraged, "Yes?"

She looked at me as if I were from outer space. "You picked up my dress," she told me accusingly.

Had I done something wrong?

I could not determine one way or another, so simply nervously agreed, "Yes."

"You picked up my dress," she repeated only this time in disbelief.

Rarely had I observed humans repeat themselves and never Esme. It was entirely disconcerting and even more so because I did not know how to remedy whatever was causing her odd behaviour.

"I did, Esme," I agreed, hoping the truth would be helpful. After more moments passing in silence my apprehension increased so added, "Please, Esme what I have done to upset you?"

Then, with no explanation she started laughing. Eventually her laughing increased to such intensity that she held her stomach and lay back onto the bed.

With each passing moment I became stiller, afraid that I had done something to drive her into hysteria. Even though I knew about the illness, as psychiatrists spoke about it, it was not something I knew how to treat, and that scared me.

After what seemed like decades had passed, she calmed down and sat back up with her arms behind her propping herself up. For all intents and purposes she looked calmer and healthier than before we had come to her room.

"Carlisle," she scolded. "I am not upset in the least. I am surprised for sure, but if I were to pick the strongest emotion I had it would be desire."

Officially I was baffled. She did not seem unwell like she had just moments before. Her heart rate was within acceptable limits; her breathing rate was also fine enough. Then, it was her words. What did desire have to do with her dress? Since it seemed that we were going to talk, I took a careful breath through my teeth testing the air. It was potent for sure, but manageable. Slowly I took in enough to fill my lungs. The scents I acquired calmed my fears and assured me that she was, in fact, well. However, this left me still confused.

She smiled at me. "You know, I love all of you Carlisle, but you standing there completely flummoxed has to be the most adorable look you have."

My befuddlement only grew.

"You know," she said conspiratorially looking at me as if she was letting me in on national secrets. "Some of the women at school I overhear speaking to one another say that I am not pregnant because you are not faithful to me. After over a year of marriage and you barely hinting that you wanted to touch me, I have to admit that their malicious words planted seeds of doubt within me."

Instantly my confusions decreased. My lack of understanding was not nearly as important at what she was conveying. Frowning, I realizing for the first time her pressing need to know in theory, if not in practise, more about the things of a wife. I had been foolish to forget her ignorance, innocence, or the pressure she was under.

"Please, Carlisle, do not ruin this moment with your self-deprecations," she chided me. "If it was unbearable to me, then I should have mentioned it earlier. It is my fault for not asking questions before today." She paused, noted my contrite yet becoming confused once more appearance, took in a breath, and then continued, "Back to my point, I do not respond to such gossip as it is pointless to do so. However, what you just did there and your perplex look tells me without a shadow of a doubt that you do not know the ways of women intimately. You might know some things in theory and have undoubtedly learned much through the nurses' gossip, but I enjoy the fact that you are ignorant of these thing, because it is comforting to me."

I had done as she had requested letting go of my rebuking thoughts. While doing this, my mind attempted to keep up with her words. Even though my mind could compute multiple things simultaneously there was something completely perplexing in her statement, which took my full capacity and still left me uncertain.

"My ignorance comforts you?" I asked her trying to summarise her words.

"Yes," she agreed with a wide smile, "and you taking my dress off the floor was the sexiest thing I have ever seen you do simply because it is not done," she assured me with a huge grin looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

Despite my best attempts, I was still stumped.

"Men do not touch dresses?" I tried to clarify.

"Only to take them off or to fasten them. Tidying up is women's work," she informed me appearing pleased as punch.

"And me doing this work pleases you?" I asked still uncertain that I understood her assertions.

"Yes," she replied only this time I watched as her eyes dilated, her heart rate increased, and her blood flow created the flush look that she had before.

Taking a step towards her, I lowered my voice nearly crooning at her, "And this appeals to you because it is contrary to your expectation of my behaviour as a husband?"

She seemed unable to speak and merely nodded.

Perhaps I had altered my voice too much. "Then, I am glad my oddities please you so," I informed her closing the space between us and holding my breath once more.

Pressing our lips together, I applied as much pressure as previous and then a minuscule amount more. When she began moving her lips, as if seeking more, I moved back from her and squatted down. Her face appeared jubilant, so I focused on my task taking her left foot and placing it onto my leg before undoing the laces.

After her footwear was removed, I ran my hands along the stockings being able to see wisps of hair hidden under her garter belt.

Looking up at her, I asked gently, making sure that I did not use my power of persuasion, "May I take off your stockings?"

She looked nervous, but nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Certain?" I asked needing confirmation once more.

"Yes," was her throaty reply.

Standing up, I extended my hand, which she took, and I used it to pull her up gently and then encouraged her to take a step forward.

Looking into her eyes I commanded, "If you have the smallest amount of fear or trepidation you say stop. Understood?"

She nodded that she had heard me, then, as I moved to the back, she added, "I am simply nervous, Carlisle."

Taking her at her word, I studied the four clasps holding the stocking. When I was fairly certain that I understood how to open them without them incurring any damage, I did so for the two on her right leg and then the two on her left. When the clasps were undone the stockings each fell a good four inches giving me a view of her that I had never seen before. As if viewing a masterpiece of Michelangelo's, I could not help but be mesmerised. Hesitantly, I brought my fingers towards the exposed skin and touched her lightly, giving absolutely no pressure, on her right thigh and then her left. At each touch a moan was contained behind her lips. The moment my finger pressed in the slightest amount into her thigh her muscles began to vibrate under my fingers. Once the tremors seemed to dissipate, I moved to the front of her checking to make sure she looked like she was willing for me to proceed.

Seeing no hesitation or worry on her features only her eyes closed for unknown reasons, I brought my fingers to the first front left clasp and undid both on that leg. Once the last clamp was released, the stocking slipped down her leg gathering at her ankle. Watching her carefully, I pressed my fingertips and then my palm onto her skin. The muscle spasms from before increased, so I removed my hand concerned and confused. I moved over slightly and undid the clasps on the right. Troubled that her muscles might spasm again if I touched her, I kept my hands to myself except to grab her hand. When I did her eyes opened.

Taking her hand, I led her to the bed. She seemed to be in some drunken stupor. Was her behaviour the product of the hormones rushing through her? I dared not taste the air. Instead, I merely assisted her to the edge of the bed and then squatted in front of her and removed her stockings. As I did so, I got an almost unobstructed view of her bush. Her legs were closed, so I could not see how far down the hair went, but even what I did see begged me to touch it. Ignoring that thought, I scooted backwards, and finding my back against the wall leant against it, sitting fully onto the floor waiting for her to come back into herself.

Her eyes remained closed for a long while. Every once in a while her legs or body would shudder and she would get this sloppy grin on her face that I had never seen before. In the meantime, I attempted to understand what she had said, and what might be causing the reaction in her. It was close to an hour later when I heard her eyes flutter open. Shortly after, she sat up, looked at her legs, and then looked over at me.

"What are you doing over there my husband?" she asked with a slight amount of hurt and concern in her voice, even though I suspected she had aimed for teasing.

"You appeared to be in an altered state and in no condition to consent," I informed her apprehensive that she had not known this for herself. "I was waiting for you."

She had a far off look like she was trying to remember something. "Did you really pick my dress off the floor and then take off my stockings?" she asked in confirmation.

Her question concerned me greatly, as I had no idea what have caused such memory alterations.

"You are not sure?" I questioned in trepidation.

"Honestly Carlisle, everything after me stepping out of my dress is foggy," she told me her tone sounding slightly confused.

I frowned.

"I am not upset or regret what happened Carlisle," she said clearly attempting to assure me. "Please do not be concerned."

She was asking a difficult thing, but I attempted to do so, "I do not like that I acted when you did not have full control over your faculties."

Initially she appeared confused; then, she seemed to be reflecting when she pressed, "I said yes, did I not?"

"You did, but your yes seems less firm in this light," I pointed out.

"I meant yes, Carlisle," she insisted with firmness in her tone. "You did not act against my will. It is like everything is coloured in a white brightness. You touching my thighs was my undoing. I felt like I was going to shake apart and everything was intensified, everything more sensitive, and there was a pressure I cannot explain within me, but it has gone now."

My mind raced quickly, all of a sudden moving faster than was normal, attempting to retrieve the information that tangentially related to her comment. When it came to me, I recalled an article once by a psychologist about something similar to what she was describing. After reviewing the article mentally, as it was a case study about a woman that was overly desirous of sex, I doubted his conclusions about the woman's diagnosis, prognosis, or treatment. Nevertheless, the article was useful in the part that it contained the description of why the patient liked sex. It was eerily similar to what Esme had just described. The doctor had concluded that this woman's body had created a chemically induced haze driven by lust and desire.

"You have a look, Carlisle. Speak your thoughts," Esme all but ordered me.

Taking a moment to collect myself, I explained attempting to modulate my voice into something resembling politeness, "I was recalling an article about a woman who described symptoms similar to what you just articulated."

"What are you saying, Dr. Cullen?" she asked cross.

Smiling gently at her I stated, "That your reaction simply means that you were enjoying what I did and that I caused you no harm."

She frowned. "You thought you caused me harm?"

"What would you have thought if the roles were reversed?" I pressed her.

"I would not know what to think honestly," she admitted after continued thought.

"This is new for both of us and neither of us know our own nor each other's reactions well. We are learning. Did you enjoy the feeling my touch produced?" I asked extremely curious to find out the answer.

She pondered then stated, "Yes." After taking another moment she added, "It was strange and disconcerting at first, but yes overall I would say that it was greatly pleasurable." She paused before continuing, "It made me think of your explanation of why women might do things they would otherwise not want to do as result of experiencing the chemicals that sex produces. If that was just a taste, I can only imagine how strong it would feel if you had touched me more. I felt like a rag doll. It was a pleasant feeling, like giving myself over to you body and soul was exactly as things are meant to be. It is hard to describe accurately. At the same time, I can see the danger in it. And although I did agree to your request, I can see your concern. Perhaps for both our sakes we should only do what we have agreed to before hand?"

Relieved at her suggestion I agreed easily, "These activities, especially considering the risks, require a lot of trust on both our parts. I think that is wise."

As her eyes had cleared and she sounded more like herself, she had also appeared more concerned and uneasy.

"I would like to take a bath now, my husband," she informed me ending the conversation.

"Of course," I obliged her hoping that the distance from me was what she needed, but worried that she was regretting what happened. "I will be in my office," I let her know as I left her room.

She nodded, but her eyes were not focused and she appeared lost in thought.

Sitting in the chair behind my desk, I barely registered her sounds of taking a bath as I went over and over the article in comparison to Esme's description and behaviour. By the time I heard the water going down the drain a foreign and crazy idea had entered by head. What if women, and thus Esme, were capable of a release not so dissimilar to a man's? The article had implied this and then condemned any hunger the patient might have experienced, using Freud's theories of penis envy as evidence. What if in contrary to the author's opinion, women, along with men, were intended to experience a sense of release? It made sense from a biological and reproductive standpoint. It was also absolutely and completely terrifying. Could this be what was pushing Esme towards wanting more with me? Did she need a release of some kind? I was in unknown territory biologically along with its implications and did not like it.

Thank the Heavens, the next two months passed uneventfully. Even though Esme in my life was the best gift, and I appreciate how she had brought excitement to my monotone existence, the fear of the unknown was often too much. Thus, us finding a routine and settling into it was the exact remedy I needed.

The school year ended and Esme's holidays began in early June. Much like the summer before, once she was no longer teaching, we went to cultural events in the evening on my days off and generally enjoyed each other's company. As always, my favourite aspect of this time was our greater opportunities to discuss current events and to argue from different positions. We also continued touching each other. Even though many couples might have found our pace aggravating, it was ideal for me. The more we repeated the same actions, the more I learned, and thus the more comfortable with myself and with Esme in this way I became. Learning her biology so profusely continued to intrigue me, and how she supported me becoming comfortable with our new boundaries demonstrated to me beyond anything else how much she cared for me.

Other than our physical intimacy, the only major difference compared to the summer prior was that Esme became more involved with the doctor's wives committee than she had during the school year. Gratefully, she seemed to be enjoying it. A few times I had come home to the scent of other women who had been in our house, usually in the sitting room, kitchen, or downstairs powder room. Fortunately, they were never in the upstairs rooms. I was glad to see her have people in her life outside of work and myself, but I could not help the slight irritation that arose within me each time at having our home invaded by scents that were not hers. In my reaction, I realised how possessive of her and our home I had become. It was not an attractive quality, but I did not know how to eliminate it.

Ironically, I was also exhibiting this behaviour at work when people asked about Esme. I disliked offering information about her, although I was aware of the importance of doing so in human circles. A sense of reluctance to share tidbits about her or us beyond the cordial "she is well" had grown within me it such a degree that it had become concerning. One day we were in the doctor suites on a break and my colleague started teasing me.

"So, Cullen, have you broken your new wife in well?" he asked with the playful tone human men reserve for one another.

"She is well, thank you," I told him while biting back a growl.

Fortunately, he had been tying his shoes so did not see my animalistic response to his ribbing.

"I bet she's more than well, huh?" he asked with a teasing tone. "Perhaps the fact that she can still walk implies that you need to up your game buddy-boy. I would expect a stud like you would make a woman sore for days, and round with your child by now."

My impulse was to rip his head off. Instead, I repeatedly reminded myself that he intended to joke with me and told him, "Excuse me," turning around quickly and heading for the exit.

"Good gracious man, you need to learn how to lighten up," he muttered under his breath as I hurried away from him in order to find fresh air.

Each time a human male, usually a doctor, teased me in a similar manner my cool collected person that I had always been seemed to evaporate instantly and in its place was a territorial beast who felt the need to defend Esme's honour. Her chastising words back from our first Christmas party filled my mind as soon as clean air hit my lungs. This was not the 16th century. Her honour did not need to be defended in the same manners that I had been raised to do as a youth. They were only teasing, as they would do to one another. The fact that they were including me in these human rituals was a good sign, but I could not find any other reaction than to be repulsed and defensive.

I tried very hard to keep this from Esme, as I did not want her to know my struggle or my reactions. After my latest retreat, I spent time reviewing my reactions to Esme in these ways. After about a week of reviewing my memories I concluded that her honour had always been important to me, even from our first meeting. What had grown over the years was its breadth and depth. Perhaps it was our increased physical intimacy, but something within me loathed to have anyone speak of her in a tarnished way. It seemed especially challenging to my sensibilities when they insinuated that she did not please me, since she was not yet with child.

Certainly, I had expected people to speak poorly about our lack of evidence of marriage consummation, and even to blame her in some way. The coarseness of how they did so, however, often enraged me. Additionally, it seemed that the strength of my reactions had grown over time, much like my attraction to Esme, rather than diminishing in power as I sought to contain it, like bloodlust had. Furthermore, it was such a foreign feeling, for which I had yet find a solution other than to hunt. Behaving in a more animalistic way when tracking a meal somehow helped soothe me, but it answered none of my questions.

I had to remind myself often that I came from another era and another culture. My human memories held no instances of men speaking so offensively, but that did not mean they had not. And my vampire memories held many instances of overhearing men being vulgar from my own country to others as I had travelled. These rational reflections did nothing to calm my reactions or inclinations. My only recourse was to have faith that a solution would appear before I did something out of reflex that exposed my lack of humanity, and brought danger to us both.

Since our encounter after our anniversary, I had registered for medical journals that I usually did not read. Before Esme I had subscribed to journals about surgeries, trials for different medicines, and new thoughts in the field. I had not read the psychoanalysis journals, as doing so had felt too intimate to me, and the journals about general health held little interest. My struggle through the years was that I already knew too much about my patients, my co-workers, and the nurses, not to mention every other human that crossed my path.

With one inhalation I could tell a great many things–the strength of their immune system, if their arteries were beginning to clog, if they were afraid, and on and on. Then there were the bruises my eyes saw that human eyes could not, fragrances that told me so much, and conversations not meant to be overheard. I knew when people were being unfaithful; I knew when a woman got pregnant before it would show on any test we could offer; I knew the difference between a heart attack, a stroke, and a panic attack without machinery; I knew what people muttered under their breath or said in their offices or even in their homes; I knew how often couples copulated, how many partners someone had, and often their occupation by scent alone; and I knew when someone was ill, even if no instrument could have told them so.

I had chosen the emergency room, rather than being an on-call doctor in a rural community, even if the rural community might have been less tempting for my bloodlust, because first, the emergency room allowed me to keep a respectable distance from my patients, which would have been more challenging in a small community, but two, it allowed me to be competent without needing to know more about people's private lives than I already did. The problem with the journals I had ordered was that they gave me even more information. I was certain many of the hypotheses written would one day be proven wrong, but I did not want all that knowledge. It was too much, except there was Esme. I needed to understand Esme better. I had yet to completely resolve my questions and they bothered me. So I read more journals, despite the moral struggles doing so brought with it.

In both May and June when we engaged in intimate actions she asked me to repeat our exchanges up to what I had done the time prior. At the end of each interaction, we ended with her stockings off, while her garter belt and full body brassier remained on. Her requests each time corresponded with the peek of her ovulation and I was beginning to suspect these things might be correlated. For her birthday I had taken her to the theatre and she requested to touch me once we returned to our home.

Actually, near the end of May she had asked to remove my clothes more than the time before. At the time, I had been still too nervous in my capacity to control myself, so we had repeated what we had previously done instead. We had both been pleased to learn that the second time was easier than the first. Then, after the show, we repeated it again. At the end of our time together I was more confident in my ability to next time handle her removing my shirt. The warmer days meant lighter materials and on occasion at home more exposed skin. The largest change between us was that we seemed to be touching nearly all the time. I had my hand on her hand or arm or leg, or she on mine, or us both on the other's. It was as if we were afraid to let the other go.

It was coming up to July 4th, when she greeted me at the door as I returned home instead of being occupied with her pursuits. I smiled at seeing her standing there.

"Good morning, my wife. Are you well?" I asked her.

She smiled back. "I am well," then her face sloped some, "but I am concerned."

My frown copied hers, "What about, my love? Do tell me what ails you."

"From the additional number of journals now arriving at our door I suspect that you are worried about something and keeping it from me," she admitted frowning.

Sighing I took her hand and guided her to our sofa. "I was trying to learn more about how the female sexual hormones and such act on a person," I confessed.

"On a person or on me?" she accused.

"You," I reluctantly acknowledged.

"I thought you were going to run experiments and ask me questions not bury yourself in journals," she stated her tone turning accusational. "I swear that you ordered the last decade worth."

Between her look and tone I dared not admit that I had done just that. "I did not want you to feel like a test subject," I told her as a way of sidestepping her ire.

"Is there another way?" she queried. "Is there any other couple like us? Do you have anyone you could ask?"

After a moment's reflection, I replied truthfully, "No."

"Have you purchased your microscope or set up a space in the cellar for you to conduct your experiments?" she questioned as if she already knew the answer.

"No," I owned up.

"Why not, Carlisle?" she pressed me.

Then, with hope that she would take my admission well, I confided in her, "I am afraid."

"Of what?" she asked shocked.

Of so many things, I wanted to tell her. But wanting to ensure our conversation did not stray into my secrets, I said, "Of what I will find, of what I will not find, of forgetting my heart and care of you in the midst of things."

Her features softened and her upset appeared gone.

"I see," she said pondering. "How much do you know about a woman's cycle?"

Surprised at her line of questions, I quickly tried to estimate her purpose in asking such a thing. As more seconds passed, and I had no conclusions, I told her, albeit hesitantly, "Quite a bit."

Her face scrunched up like she was not terribly surprised and trying to put this information into whatever calculation she was building. This debating aspect of Esme, which had grown since the letter from Mrs. Martin was beautiful in its capacity and just a little intimidating when wielded against me.

"And mine?" she pushed.

"More than that," I divulged unwilling to lie, even if the topic was uncomfortable.

"I see," she said again returning to the expression she had held prior, and pondered once more. "What are your research questions?" she asked seriously after some time had passed, as I had been unwilling to interrupt whatever thinking process she was engaged in.

My hope was that despite its discomfort, the conversation would allow her to once more find a third way for us.

I smiled at her appreciating what she was trying to do for me. "What are the precise chemicals that cause your haze and what are their purpose? And precisely how infectious to you am I?"

"You said that you know quite a bit about my cycle?" she inquired confirming.

I nodded fearful of her next question.

Clearly uncomfortable herself, she nevertheless straightened up and asked, "What do you know?"

That, although uncomfortable, was not as bad of a question as she could have asked.

"When you receive your monthly visitor, when it ends, when your ovaries are preparing to release an egg for conception, and the periods in between," I stated evenly using the inclination I did when telling the nurse my diagnosis for a patient.

"Franklin Roosevelt!" she muttered. Staring at me hard she demanded, "And how, pray tell, do you know this?"

This was the question I was dreading. Apart from my embarrassment, I had been caught out on something related to my inhuman nature. Reluctantly unwilling to lie to her I admitted, "I have a really strong sense of smell."

"You can smell those things?" she asked shocked.

Watching her features carefully for her reaction, I confirmed, "Yes."

After her initial reactions a small smile arose. "Is that why you like smelling me?" she inquired softly.

Surprised she would make that connection, I nevertheless owned up, "Yes."

"Well, that answers that question," she mumbled. Her eyes narrowed at me. "Can you smell if I am sick?"

"Yes."

Her eyes widened some, but she appeared more calculating.

Seeming like she was choosing her words carefully, she then asked, "How about if I've had my hands in dirt?"

Trying to contain a smile of how proud and impressed I was of her, I answered, "Usually."

"Things from school?" she continued.

Struggling even more to keep my face serious, I told her, "Often."

"Of all the things," she muttered under her breath. "Can you smell changes in hormones and emotions and such things?"

Impressed even more by her connections and the diligence of her questions, I divulged, "Most of them, yes," even though it probably confirmed another of my inhuman traits.

"Sad?" she pressed.

Frowning as I realized that my knowledge of her in these ways might upset her, I hesitantly admitted, "Yes, I can smell the tears, even if they never fall."

"Angry?" she probed her tone having a hint of upset in it.

Frowning even more, I confessed, "Yes."

"Happy?" she quizzed.

Pausing, I considered that carefully before answering, "I suppose so, although I have never thought of it that way."

She seemed to be adding my information to some internal conclusions.

After a few minutes she asked her tone slightly softer than the last question, "Aroused?"

"Yes," I confessed softly.

"Good golly," she nearly belted. After taking a few breaths she continued, "When I am in my undergarments can you smell how much I desire you?"

Uncomfortable to admit such a thing and afraid of her reaction I nonetheless answered, "Yes."

Appearing puzzled, she took a moment before guessing, "Is this why in the beginning it was hard on you? The smell?"

Surprised how easily she made those connections and concerned for the conclusions it might give her, I yet admitted, "Yes."

Frowning slightly, her tone softer than previous, she asked, "Is it still difficult for you?"

Grateful for her concern and appreciative of these small ways that she cared for me, when none had prior, I told her, "I am managing it better."

Her lips pursed and she appeared lost in thought once more.

After the silence had been stretched beyond its comfortable limit, she muttered, "I guess you have no concerns about my unfaithfulness because you would smell it one me."

Reluctant to divulge the answer, as it indicated the unequality of our relationship, I still agreed, "Probably."

She took a sharp breath in.

"What else–" she started and then abruptly stopped and then stated, "no never mind. I do not want to know." She collected herself and straightened up. I was learning that this pose was her way of bracing herself to speak about things that she found uncomfortable. "Fine, then. Given all that, how Dr. Cullen would you suggest we conduct these experiments? Let us start with your first hypothesis."

Looking at her speculatively, she seemed unwilling to do anything but proceed. Concerned the conversation might upset her or inadvertently give her information that could increase her awareness to my nature, nevertheless I saw that same brazen vulnerability. She was trying to assist me and be a good wife.

Unable to reject her offer, I told her, "I could try looking at your blood and sweat under a microscope, but I really would need a way to separate out the parts better and such a thing does not exist."

"Is your sense of smell sensitive enough to aid in distinguishing between the different elements?" she probed.

Her question was beyond odd. Never would have Aro asked such a thing, because he would have known the answer, given his extensive knowledge of vampire capacities. And never would have any colleague asked such a thing, since it hinted at my inhumanity. Despite the sense of skirting danger the question stirred within me, at the same time it was so wonderful to have someone who knew this about me ask. A deep knowing contentment settled into me. Even if she did not know the details and my true nature, she knew enough to enter my in-between world, and had done so willingly, even if she was not aware of her action. It was the most delightful sensation that I had to work at containing the bliss that wanted to spread across my face.

Instead, I focused on her question and kept my features neutral while stating, "I can tell some things. White cell counts in the blood, certain chemicals that I have come to distinguish as a doctor, things like that."

"So not much time examining women that want you?" she teased.

"Actually," I began and then stopped watching her carefully frightfully concerned of her reaction to my answer. "I have categorised most of the chemicals produced from lust."

Her mouth went from an o to a thin line quickly.

Nervous her features indicated ire, I tried to explain, "It is how I avoid the worst of the nurses or patients as much as I can."

She narrowed her eyes as me, in a demanding way that I continue, even though she said nothing.

"So, I know when you are aroused and most of the chemicals associated with that," I disclosed trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might cause her jealousy and upset.

After some long breaths that appeared to calm her, from what emotion exactly was a mystery, she asked, "So, what is the problem?" composing herself once more.

Appreciating how she was helping me, despite her feelings, I felt myself feel even more amazed at how she assisted and supported me.

Copying her mannerisms of us having a serious intellectual debate, I told her, "The issue, as you pointed out that night after our anniversary, is that I have no knowledge of intimate affairs. People become aroused by visual elements frequently, men and women. I arouse you in ways other than physical at times, but the smell is the same no matter the stimuli. I knew of nothing, however, after attraction, that is until you, as I have shielded myself away from it. The smells you produce when we are intimate are so strong and alluring to me that in order to not do something I would regret I have all but ignored my sense of smell when we are together."

She stared at me for many long minutes occasionally blinking and being as still as was possible for her.

Eventually she asked pausing between each word, "You ignore your sense of smell?"

"Yes," I agreed hesitantly, given how she had asked the question. Feeling the need to assure her, I added, "It does not harm me in any way."

Her eyes grew large and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head before she mumbled under her breath, "I do not want to know." Then, her features turned stoic again and after a few minutes she enquired, "If you could analyse the smells enough times would that aid you in your study?"

After considering her suggestion and all of its implications, I replied, "Yes, but it is too risky. You are too alluring," I explained.

Nodding as if she expected that answer, she began thinking once more.

Then, as if a light switch had been turned on she made eye contact and questioned, "What if I was not there?"

Staring at her, I tried to figure out what her mind had conceived.

Most likely noticing my befuddlement, she explained, "What if after instead of you leaving, I do. Then, you can conduct your analysis without me in the room."

It was completely an ungentlemanly thing to do and felt dishonourable. Yet, there was no doubt that it was a good idea. Once more she had created a possibility I had never conceived. She had created a third way. Letting go of my sense of propriety would be a challenge, but since ultimately it was about keeping Esme safe, I could see myself doing it.

Excited about what I could learn, but reluctant given the risk to her, I emphasized, "Yes, but you would have to wait for me to leave your room. You could not enter suddenly."

As if this was commonplace she agreed, "Fair enough."

"Fair enough?" I retorted unsure of how we had gotten to her agreeing to this.

"Sure, why not, Carlisle?" she countered looking slightly miffed at my disbelief. "You will not feel more comfortable until you understand what is happening and have catalogued it all, at least as much as you can. I want you to be comfortable."

A smile spread across my face. Even though she had spoken her love of me and admonished me for minimizing her feelings and reasons for marriage, her easy acceptance of my oddity and her reasoning for assisting me filled me with joy. Here was a woman who seemed willing to support me, even in these unusual ways. It was a beautiful precious gift.

She smiled back tentatively and then appeared bashful. When she spoke it was with reluctance. "I have something along these matters that I wish to discuss with you."

"Naturally," I replied encouraging her.

We would only find our way forward with honesty.

Preparing herself, she stiffened and looked uncomfortable before she divulged, "I have been having images come to mind due to the last time we were intimate. I am curious to ask you, assuming these experiments aid you, about your thoughts."

Why I had never considered that she too might have images accosting her? My lack of forethought was foolish of me. It made sense that she would. It was an important topic, but I found myself as reluctant to speak about these things as she had been to ask.

Finding the courage to overcome my bashfulness, as it was important, I asked cautiously both intrigued and scared about what she might say, "Would you be willing to share one?"

She momentarily looked flustered before she collected herself. "Well, apart from you touching my breasts, which we are working towards, I have wondered about you placing your fingers near my privates and even within me."

My mouth dropped open and all coherent thought seemed to stop. All I could see was her lying on the bed in all her glory with her legs spread. When I came out of my stupor my mind began racing about all the things I could do with my fingers. There was that bundle of nerves that psychoanalysts declared created penis envy. Perhaps with my fingers I could give her the release her body seemed to be striving towards.

Lost in my thoughts I heard Esme whisper far away, "Carlisle?"

Blinking I began to come out of my head. How long had I been still? Probably too long. She knew I became still when surprised, that I had enhanced smell and hearing, and that I was cold. No, I assured myself, those characteristics would not be enough to guess my nature.

When my eyes caught hers she smiled slightly and then softly said, "I am sorry Carlisle. I did not mean to frighten you."

I grinned at her letting it know it was fine. "The idea pleased me, however," I disclosed.

Her eyes grew large and dilated while her arousal began to fill the air. "It did?"

"Yes," I stated trying to remain calm and in my seat when all I wanted to do was kiss her and take her clothes off to try. "And it seems perfectly safe. As long as my fingers are clean and dry before hand."

She got a far off look and resembled something like the drunken state she usually had when we were intimate. I pondered if her look was related to the release I was hypothesising her body was yearning for. It seemed likely.

When she did speak again she whispered, "When do you think we could try that?"

The images accosting me and their resultant physical reactions caused me to feel as if I had turned into a Neanderthal.

Forcing my body to calm and my mind to ponder rationally, I eventually came to the conclusion, "I think we should work on removing your brassiere and me touching those parts before we move on to the nether regions."

"That is probably wise," she stated even though she sounded disappointed. Then with a twinkle in her eye she asked, "So what is your research schedule?"

I chuckled at how her forwardness was being covered in her intellectual manner.

Choosing to tease her a little, I playfully uttered, "And you wonder why I was afraid to make this a subject of study."

She frowned and I moved so that we were sat next to each other and pulled her into me. "Are you impatient, Esme?" I asked jokingly.

She frowned and thought, then told me, "No, not impatient, per say. I am pleased at where we are in our progression of things. It is more than I could have asked. At the same time, I feel as if my body is demanding more, needing something that I do not know."

"The pressure you are describing is biological, Esme. We must rise above it," I urged her. "We cannot be driven by our impulses."

"How about our heart?" she asked with a cheeky grin.

"And what does your heart want?" I asked softly.

"You," she answered putting pressure onto my arm and bringing my hand up to kiss it.

"You have me," I told her fervently.

"And you have me," she spoke with passion as she began to pepper kisses up my arm.

"I believe myself ready for you to remove my shirt, if you would like to continue what you are doing," I offered.

She removed herself from me and gazed into my eyes. "Are you sure?" she confirmed hope and nervousness entering into her voice.

"As sure as I will be," I answered with my own sly grin.

She pecked me on the cheek.

Then, I picked her up and carried her to my room, all the while she looked into my eyes lovingly.

* * *

 _A/N: Each time I have received a message from you, my readers, I have been encouraged to find time between everything to work on this story. Thus, I cannot thank you enough. You are often my lighthouse in the whirlwind of my RL atm._


	17. Transformation

**Chapter 17: Transformation**

* * *

When I put her down she took my hand and kissed it.

"Thank you," she told me softly.

Nodding, I held my breath like I had taken to doing. She moved me so that I was sitting on the edge of my bed, as had become our custom. She removed my jacket, then just like before she opened up my collar removing my tie. Having her hands near my neck had become less fearful over time, but the sense of vulnerability it gave me was still present. Slowly and carefully she undid the buttons to my dress vest and then slid it off my shoulders. Next, she slid the right and then left suspenders off my shoulders allowing them to hang from the pants.

When she came back round to face me, she moved her hands on top of my shirt as she had done before, touching the fabric from the shoulders down the arms. This time when she got to my wrists she undid the cufflinks on the right and then the left. Additionally, she spent longer touching me than she usually did. Perhaps she was nervous herself. Eventually her fingers found my third button and undid it. Then, she looked up at me confirming that she could continue. I felt nothing more than gratitude and great affection for her. The trepidation that had held me back before was gone. Slowly and checking in with me each time, she undid a button one by one often touching the union suit underneath.

When she had done all the buttons visible she whispered, as if afraid that her voice would have me change my mind, "Please stand." Then, she stepped back allowing me to do as she had requested.

Once I stood, she guided me to take another step forward, and then she moved towards my back. Slowly she gathered the material, and putting her hands under my pants, began pulling it out. The movement of the fabric was excruciatingly slow. Her hands pushed under my pants the slightest amount and were so near to my hindquarters it was tantalizing. The part of me that wanted to rush to the finish line, whatever that might be, was struggling to take me over.

She was my wife it wanted to argue. She had no basis to say no to my needs it tried to convince me. But like my bloodlust, I knew this was simply a biological urging. The body wanted release and was impatient. With centuries of practice forcing my body to deny its baser instincts I was not concerned and merely pushed these urgings along with the corresponding thoughts aside, just like I had in my early years regarding images of drinking human blood that had accosted me at that time. This too shall pass I reminded myself.

Eventually she successfully removed my shirt from my pants along the back and moved to my left side slowly bringing the fabric out. Her hands shook some when she repositioned herself in front of me. I ran my hands from her shoulders down her arms to the elbows in comfort and assurance. I trusted that she would stop if she felt any fear. When my hands left her body, she removed the last bits of fabric out from my pants. Then, she came to stand a distance away, and admired me with my shirt agape bar the last four buttons. After a few minutes her hands and eyes went towards the shirt and one by one brought the last buttons through their eyeholes. Interestingly, she had brought the fabric towards herself and away from my body. I wondered if she held any fear of my member. I tucked that information away, knowing that conversation would need the right moment.

Once the buttons were all undone, she pressed her hands onto my chest as if to indicate for me to step backwards. I presumed she was leading me to the edge of the bed again and complied. Once I was seated, she crawled up onto the bed and came towards me from behind. She pressed her thumbs into my muscles between my neck and shoulders as if attempting to give me a massage. Her attempts at pressure did little, but her heat was delightful and I allowed my shoulders to ease all the while continuing to move them as if I were breathing.

Once my shoulders moved into a more relaxed position, she brought her fingers once more towards my neck and then tucked her fingers under, drawing the fabric towards herself. It stopped at a certain point, as my shirts were form fitted. The sounds and shifting of indentations on the bed suggested that she was moving towards my right, so I shifted that way slightly holding out my arm. Our eyes met and she smiled warmly. Then, she placed her fingers between my wrist and the shirt and began to pull. I moved so that her motion would bring my arm out of the sleeve. Following, she repeated the process on my left. Once complete the fabric came off my shoulders and settled along my back. She lifted the shirt, the jacket, vest, and tie and carried them with her as she came off the bed. She placed them tenderly onto a chair that I kept near the window. The soft sound of her turning to return excited me.

She chose to get back onto the bed and starting with my neck, ran her hands along the top of my back. She alternated from that movement to placing kisses on the spaces where my skin was exposed. Each time she did so, my body nearly wanted to convulse in pleasure. Without the shirt her heat was more acutely felt and her movements became even more prominent. Then without warning, she placed her head against my back and wrapped her arms around me. Her scent, her presence, her heat each became strong forces pulling me in the same direction: to respond by undressing her and perhaps for the first time seeing her out of her brassier.

Instead, I held myself in place and tried to understand how her scent was impacting me in such a way when I was not breathing. It was like when she had first moved in, and where she had touched had become infused with her oils and thus her scent. It was as if she was marking me with her essence. Ironically, I found that her doing so, even if she was unaware of what she was doing, incredibly sexy. I revelled in the idea that her scent would be not just on my clothes, but in my skin.

"I have an idea, Esme," I told her quietly not wishing to disturb her.

"Go ahead," she requested without moving.

"What if I took off my shoes and lay prostrate on the bed stomach down?" I offered.

She withdrew and came round to be in front of me scrutinizing my face. "You sure?"

"Yes," I affirmed. "I was quite enjoying having you so close to me and me on my stomach seems to be a good way to do that so we might both be comfortable."

She nodded in agreement and sat down on the floor to take off my shoes. Once they were off, I moved myself into position. She came and lay on top of my right side. Her left hand moved along the union suit continuously, albeit slowly, from my scalp down to my pants. It was blissful. After a while her movements slowed, as did her breathing and heart rate, and I knew she was asleep. How she could find sleeping on me restful was beyond my understanding.

At first as she slept, I seemed incapable of coherent thought. Eventually, with considerable effort, I reigned in the impulses swimming through my body and began to carefully consider how we might go about increasing in touching without giving away that I had no heartbeat. Really, it was more than my lack of a heart, there was a lack of my lungs to inflate and exhale like a human, there was the lack of movement of blood through veins, or perspiration, or even softness. There were so many obstacles to doing what my body wanted in a way that neither harmed her nor gave away my nature that it seemed impossible.

However, even in the midst of my circular thoughts I became aware that having her scent in my skin from her oils soothed some animalistic part of me that I did not understand. It reminded me in some ways to her father's wish for me to purchase her a ring. He wanted a symbol for those who encountered Esme to immediately know that she was betrothed and already promised to someone else. I wanted that for myself, and for reasons that I did not understand, and were wholly inhuman, having her scent penetrate into mine seemed like it would be the way for me to have something similar.

This strong need allowed me to temporarily give up my mental musings for a solution to increased intimacy, and I began going back through my memories of Volterra. This time as I did so, I paid special attention to the scents of the mated pairs. I had already realised when I was there that the scent of the mate was on the other, but its significance had never dawned on me. There was a considerable difference in scent tone and quantity between the mated pairs and those were casual in their affairs. Without inquiry it had told me whom I encountered were mated and which were not. Could having her scent in my skin be my way of indicating to others of my kind that I was no longer a bachelor?

The more that I thought about it, the more I wanted it. Interestingly enough, no carnal desires were attached to this wish. It was something entirely different. Like how humans desire to wed in front of their community and wear rings. The ceremony was a manifestation of their desire to proclaim their status and place in society to others. What I wanted was like that, but qualitatively different, because I was not human, and although I lived among them and cared for them, they were not my kind. Not that my kind found me anything other than peculiar. I mean what human would marry a deer or sheep? You do not marry your natural food source, I was certain Aro would say in his chastisement. Certainly he would encourage me to turn her. Even though we were more intimate than I could have ever imagined, I could not follow this suggestion for the same reasons I could not when we had first met.

Nevertheless, it was clear that having her scent on me was important to some unknown part of myself. I had to hope that it might even quiet my carnal urges some. Once I had decided on the validity and strength of this need, the question was how to broach the topic of lying together more with Esme.

When she awoke she seemed stiff, but pleased.

"I shall leave you for you to conduct your assessments. How about a sandwich for lunch?" she offered.

"Would you mind if I just had an apple or some fruit? I do not feel very hungry," I requested.

Food and finding a way to leave her alone, so that I might hunt without her asking questions, had become the two downsides of her being home over the summer. Like the former summer, usually I tried to hunt before or after work as to not arise her suspicions, and I always ate at least one meal that she prepared when I was home for the whole day. I tried to not ask for less food than she what offered often, but had just hunted before coming home.

"Shall I bring it to your study then?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I told her.

Once she left, I gave myself completely to my senses. I drew in breaths and catalogued each molecule that entered. She had not become as strongly aroused as before, so it was not quite the information needed. Nevertheless it was helpful, if for no other reasons than giving me a baseline. After finishing my evaluations, I removed my garments and slowly changed into clean ones, as my mind was still puzzling the problem of how to get her scent on me without greater intimacy. When I entered my study and glanced at the journals a chuckle escaped my lips. They had been informative in some ways, but Esme had been correct. I went and found one of the equipment catalogues I kept on hand and searched for the strongest microscope available. I would order it from the hospital, but have it shipped to the house.

She came up to my office with her lunch and some cut fruit for me.

"Thank you, Esme."

"You are welcome," she replied as she settled into one of the lounge chairs.

After a few minutes of us eating I told her, "I have some delicate things I want to talk to you about."

"Sure, Carlisle," she said easily.

"I thoroughly enjoyed having you lay on me as you did. It was pleasurable in a comforting way more than anything, but I also found it unsatisfactory. Thus, I was wondering how you would feel about me undressing myself completely on top and laying on the bed as I was and then having you come in and lay as you did."

Probably the only reason her mouth did not drop open was because it contained food. Her eyes were large however.

"I understand if you are not ready, Esme, or if you have no wish for such an arrangement. I ask for completely selfish reasons," I added in case she felt pressured by my request.

"I would really like that," she finally said subdued with a tone of being greatly pleased.

"You would?" I asked surprised.

"Yeah," she confirmed bashfully. "It might be silly, but sleeping together in the same bed seems like the hallmark of marriage to me."

"It does?" I asked caught off guard.

"Why did you want separate bedrooms anyway?" she asked off-handily.

"I thought it would make it easier on us both," I explained.

"Easier how?" she pressed.

"Well, since originally I was expecting us to have less physical contact than we do, us each having a space to dress and undress seemed prudent."

"Was that common where you grew up that men and women had separate rooms?" she inquired.

"For those of my father's family's status, yes," I told her.

"Huh."

Raising an eyebrow at her, I wondered what that was all about.

"You really were raised in a different world than I," she stated after a few minutes.

"Very much so," I agreed.

"Well, given our unique marriage agreements, the room arrangements do make sense, so let us keep it for now, but perhaps in the future, like the next time we move, we could discuss it being different?" she suggested her tone soft.

I nodded unable to articulate the excitement and terror such a proclamation brought.

"So, regarding your request. How about on your days off, once I am ready for bed you can situate yourself and I will come in when you say you are ready?" she offered after some contemplation.

"In your nightgown and robe?" I verified.

"Yes, but I will take the robe off before I get into bed. I would rather sleep under the covers. Would you turn the lights off before I enter, please?"

"Sure," I agreed, but was unwilling to admit that the lack of light would make no difference in my ability to see her.

"Will you keep your pants on?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied abruptly.

"Would that not be uncomfortable?" she wondered.

"I will make it work," I simply said.

A grin spread across her face. "I rather like this idea," she admitted gleefully.

"I am glad to have pleased you, Miss Platt. Any other requests while we are at it?" I asked.

She looked down and then up as if gathering her courage. "It would be nice if you asked to be intimate with me rather than always waiting for me to initiate things."

"If I asked and you did not want to, would you be able to say no?" I questioned.

She paused. "Yes, now that I know that you are aware of when my visitor comes, so you would not ask then." After a brief pause she added, "Would you?"

I chuckled at the thought, since when she ovulated and when she menstruated was when her scent was the strongest. If it were up to me, I would choose when her scent was less concentrated not more. No, I would have never asked then. Shaking my head no she grinned slightly in triumph.

After a moment passed between us I agreed, "Yes, I could do this, but you must set the limits before we start."

Her smile filled her whole face. "Deal, Dr. Cullen."

She was certainly a dangerous creature.

"So, in two nights we will lie together. Do we have other plans for your day off?" she asked casually.

"I was thinking we could go to the park, find a spot in the shade, and enjoy some live music," I informed her knowing how much we both enjoyed these excursions.

"Picnic?" she checked.

"Naturally," I replied with a smile at her exhuberance.

"And then come home and try out our new arrangement?" she asked with a wide grin.

"Is that suitable to you?" I questioned serious wanted to verify.

"Yes." She smiled and stood taking our empty plates. "I shall leave you to your reading, as I have some work to do for the 4th of July fundraiser."

"I had one more thing to speak about, but it is of less consequence," I let her know.

She considered my words before speaking. "I really do have quite a bit to accomplish today. If you are sure it is of little consequence shall we add it to our itinerary for your day off?"

"That sounds more than reasonable," I agreed. "Thank you Esme."

"No need to thank me. Nevertheless, you are very welcome," she told me right before she left the room.

With her gone I was able to get through the remaining journals that I had not read. Esme had been right. They were not much help to us.

That night I considered how to make a laboratory and spent the next day moving things in the cellar around to make room for a back area. I installed a wall and a door to separate the food storage area from my research lab. Esme seemed to enjoy watching me and occasionally helping. A project that would have, before Esme, taken me a few hours, took nearly four days, but with having to appear human, our date, and then the fundraiser it was really a week before it was complete.

Our picnic and listening to music had gone well. A few people had greeted us, but mostly we had been left to ourselves. After returning, we settled into the living room mutually engaged in our own readings while my hand ran up and down her legs. When the day felt truly behind us, I asked, "Would this be a good time to return to the conversation we left unfinished a few days ago?"

Reluctantly she put down her readings and stated, "Yes, please go ahead."

Gazing at her, a smile plastered on my fact from being awed at the gift of her being in my life, I told her, "When you went to undo the last four buttons of my shirt you took it away from my skin. It seemed like you were being hesitant about something. I was wondering if you could share, so I could understand better."

She looked uncomfortable and debating with herself.

When the minutes continued I felt a need to tell her, "If it is taboo or private, please do not feel pressured."

She looked at me and seemed to soften. "It is merely a topic a lady does not discuss, even with her husband."

Smiling in understanding at her, I gave her time to decide if she wanted to share or not.

It took her a while, but eventually I could see her shift in a way that indicated that she had made her decision. She looked at me quickly, but then at her hands. "As a girl on the farm and then at college I was told over and over again the importance of not tempting a man. I was reminded how the slightest touch ignited a man's desire and how it was my responsibility to not tempt him so. To the most part I had dismissed these warnings, when it came to you, because of your initial conditions and then because you had on so many layers. But after you divulging that you felt me even through all your clothing, these warnings have come back to me. I wanted to fulfil this next step of us getting to know each other without tempting you unduly." Then she looked up at me in her brazen vulnerability and asked, "Did it work?"

My first reaction was to growl, so instead I pressed my lips together firmly. While I took my time considering what to say, Esme increased in her small indicators of being nervous.

Choosing my words carefully, I voiced, "First, I must say that I am angry at your upbringing and the school for giving you such ideas."

She looked at me shocked.

Moving her legs onto the floor, I scooted closer to her and took her hand.

"Esme, surely a woman should be respectful of a man's person in the same way he should be of hers. Certainly, it would be a violation for her to come up to him and grab his privates or grab his backside. However, to suggest that a woman who behaves in a respectful manner is responsible for a man's behaviour is ridiculous."

She looked agasp, no doubt at the vulgar pictures I had pained with my words.

Despite her reaction I continued, "I asked you to take off my shirt. I said I was ready. I would not have said so, if I did not believe that I could handle all of what that meant. And if it had been more than I had imagined, I would have stated so and asked you to stop. Never are you responsible for my body, except to respect it and stay within what we have agreed. In the same way you are responsible for your own body. I trust you. You trust me. I cannot be responsible for such things in you, then you cannot be responsible for such things in me." By the end my tone had been passionate and intense.

Her eyes had dilated and she appeared turned on while her scent had some indications of fear. It was a disturbing combination. Even though I waited longer than was polite for her to speak, she remained silent.

Unwilling to wait longer, calming myself, I spoke gentle and softly, "Your reaction is concerning me. Please speak your mind, my darling Esme."

She looked at me with some hesitancy, but there was a soft smile on her lips and her eyes held desire. "Watching you speak with such passion is a beautiful thing, Carlisle. You are stoic in so many ways that sometimes I have wondered if you hold any passion. Clearly you do, but are hiding it from me." Her smile widened, and added, "A passionate man is a creature to behold." Then, her tone turned more solemn. "I suppose this is one more thing for us to work through. Your thoughts spoken with such fervour hold truth in them that is hard to deny. Yet, the messages told to me throughout my life say differently. It is also as if your words have allowed me to see our agreement from another perspective. It is not only to ensure my safety, but also to ensure that we agree with the touches we are exchanging. It is truly a magnificent thing you have offered. Simultaneously, it stands in direct contrast with the ideas I was given, especially regarding the power I held to tempt men into evil."

My mind grappled with her opinion that I was stoic. Had I tempered myself to such a degree that she believed me to be an emotionless creature? Even though that idea displeased me, I was grateful for her confession that my passion impressed and aroused her. Unsure of how to proceed regarding that new information, I set it aside.

Grinning mischievously at how she saw herself, I teased her, "Oh, mark my words, you are a temptation beyond description." Becoming more serious I added, "but any action on my part to give into that temptation rests solely with me,"

She smiled widely like my playfulness had soothed and pleased her. "And how could a girl argue with such a well put argument?"

Pausing, I finally collected my thoughts and disclosed, "My upbringing causes me to believe extreme displays of emotion to be uncouth. I do not mean to hide myself from you."

Smiling playfully she bantered, "Behaviours of a gentleman?"

Returning her smile, I agreed, "Yes, something like that."

Her face falling some she uttered softly, "Perhaps these are the lessons in the beginning of marriage. I am learning you. You are learning me." She paused and seemed to be mulling over something before she spoke once more, "Shall I try to remember that you are responsible for your actions towards my temptations if you shall try to express yourself more openly to me?"

Initially I was surprised by her suggestion. Then, I was impressed.

"Fair exchange for sure, Miss Platt," I agreed.

She smiled widely and with a joyful note said, "I was taught by the best."

Ready to get on with our evening I queried, "Shall we go to bed and attempt our new sleeping arrangement?"

"Certainly, Dr. Cullen," she replied smiling pleased and hesitant while she stood.

As soon as I stepped into my room to prepare myself, my nervousness grew. Removing my own vest, suspenders, and shirt, I once more considered if this was a wise idea. Unable to withdraw my offer I undid my union suit and folded over my waist. Taking one last inhale, I turned off the lights and lay down. Shortly after she came in wearing her sleep attire. She walked over to the right side of the bed and she placed her robe near the bottom corner. As a precaution, I closed my eyes until she was settled under the covers.

Perhaps because it was our first time attempting it, or perhaps because the lights had been off when she had come in, it took a long time for Esme to settle down enough to sleep. She moved her hands everywhere on my back, even a little to my left side, and my neck. A few times she reposition herself often with her mouth and nose on my back. The first time she had taken in a breath while laying on me she stifled a moan behind her lips. Perhaps she found my scent attractive. It was designed to lure in humans, after all. Then, although the covers smothered its strength, her arousal at our state was apparent. Mine was too, albeit better hidden as it was pressing into the bed rather than filling the air between us.

My arousal was simply because it was the first time my skin had been exposed like this. Certainly I felt vulnerable, but beyond that, it was just so nice to have someone touch me, especially with the care and attentiveness Esme was giving me. Her breathing on me felt very different, as the moisture touched my skin and then would evaporate, her oils would move along my skin, and flakes of her skin could be felt. None of those had been the same than it had been through the clothing. Fortunately, once she fell asleep it was easier to relax and just enjoy having her on me in this way. Interestingly, when she usually slept by herself I could hear her move through the night, but instead she clung to me unwilling in her unconsciousness to leave my side. In the morning, I closed my eyes until she had left the room.

From then on each time she slept with me the arousal element of it eased away quicker for both of us. By September and the start of school we had a new routine. We still read together, us each in our end of the sofa with our books, I gave her massages mostly every day, I read to her while she lay in my lap, and we went out together when we could. I asked to be intimate with her about twice a month, always when her scent was the most defused, and although we had not progressed with more undressing, we were learning each other and our own bodies better.

She slept in my room the two nights a week I was off. On those nights she had also begun asking to undress me up until my union suit and pants before she would leave, change into her own nightwear, and then return. We both seemed much more content than at the start of the year. Oddly enough, it seemed that us sleeping together had helped both of us. Her urgency in intimacy seemed to have waned and she was taking a slower pace, which pleased me. Additionally, my skin, slowly, was beginning to also contain elements of her scent, which also pleased me. It was not the intimacy of marriage between humans or even between mates, but it seemed to be working well. More than anything, our ability to find a manner of being together that worked for us both was a tremendous relief.

Adjusting to our new way of being together, it had become my custom to hunt about once a week after my shift, unless I left early enough to walk her to her employment, and in these occasions, when needed, would hunt after she entered the school. Then, one day hunting directly after my shift, I had purposefully travelled thirty miles northwest ending up on the Connecticut/Massachusetts border, standing still, enjoying the forest and hoping to find something other than deer, when I came across a nomad. He looked relatively young into this life and his bright red eyes indicated being well fed.

"Is this your territory?" he asked in a crouch as soon as he came upon me.

"Hartford," I told him hoping that would deter him from entering it.

"Where's that?" he asked with an accent that suggested he was from New York City.

"South of here," I told him politely.

Where before Esme I would have been glad for the company and perhaps spent the day with him and even invited him back to my home, instead I found myself restless and on edge.

"You smell like humans," he noted as he stood up more, seemingly become relaxed in my presence.

Expecting this statement, as it was often the first thing nomads commented on, I explained, "Yes, I work as a doctor amongst them."

Fortunately, he did not seem like the cunning kind. Instead, his shock was clearly plastered on his face followed by intrigue and admiration.

"A doctor?" he said in disbelief. "What a racket. You must be old to be that disciplined. I bet they never suspect you."

His reaction was predictable. In the past I would have appreciated the opening and engaged in conversation. Rather, I felt bored and disgruntled. Chastising myself for acting like every nomad was the same, I tried to hold onto my open approach that had been my manner before Esme.

"No, they never have," I agreed trying to sound jovial. Unable to contain my feelings of disquiet completely, I cut to the chase, "I consume animal blood instead."

He started laughing out loud like I had told the funniest joke. Many of my kind did when I told them my lifestyle. Usually being the joke of my kind did not upset me. I knew my choices were odd and like when I lived in Volterra accepted the joking in stride. The stark difference between most reactions to me and Garrett's had been one of the things to forge our friendship. Then again, he had met me in the surgery tent working on mending his sister.

"A doctor that drinks animals," the nomad sputtered out between laughs taking me away from my memories.

Even though I smiled in a slightly indulgent manner, I said nothing, strangely wanting to move the conversation to its conclusion as quickly as possible.

Eventually he stopped and looked at me curiously. "Serious?"

"Yes," I told him staidly strangely annoyed at his belief and incredulous reaction, even though all but a few I had met as a vampire had reacted differently.

He shook his head as if refuting my words. His face read like a book moving quickly from scepticism to consideration to then awareness, as if he had just come upon a great epiphany. After a few seconds more his features turning into astonishment, and then he informed me fervently, "You just the slyest dog. Running a racket under their nose. Getting a handle at the females. I bet they just fall over themselves. I prefer mine hard and cold, but if that floats your boat." He smiled coyly like I had just given him the greatest visual image possible. "Might even be worth not chowing on them. Leave them hungry wanting more. Doctor vampire sure don' sound like my thing, but each their own."

It was not the first time a nomad had made such an assumption. Most single nomads I had met were males governed by their lust. I had theorized with Garrett that they probably had been gluttons in their human lives as well, but vampirism allowed them to partake in their basest desires with little consequence. Garrett had been moved by honour in his human life, and although he fed himself from humans, was still a man who acted from a place of honour. Most often these gluttonous nomads and their assumptions did not offend me, as I understood the strong impulses that ran through them, even if I chose to deny them.

Nonetheless, I found myself unusually offended. Perhaps it was the manner he spoke or how eerily his remarks reminded me of Mr. Swift and his crude remarks. Even Garrett, who was a bit of a womanizer, never spoke of women in anything other than revert tones. He enjoyed their company, but it was always filled with respect and honour. Perhaps it was the recent conversation with Esme and how much I had been learning about the oppression of human women. Nevertheless, for the first time I found myself wishing to be discourteous. My father would have been appalled. In my head, I could still hear him reminding me to be polite to everyone, as the world was too small to do anything less than leave others with a good impression.

The silence that had entered the conversation while he had paused and appeared to be thinking more was broken by his utterance, "But the strongest scent on you smells scrumptious. Perhaps, since you aren't goin' to partake, you'd be letting me have at least a nibble. She must be quite a looker for her to be on you as much as she is. Nice ass, firm tits, full lips I'm bettin'. Yeah, after second thought, I could see the appeal of warm lips on my–"

His head was detached from his body before he had uttered the next word. It was only that he stopped speaking that had made me aware of the fact that I had dismembered him. I was loathed to burn him, but we were a vengeful species and if I let him go he was likely to come back after me, which would risk Esme. That was unacceptable. She could not pay the price for my … I was at a loss of words to describe what had happened. It had been done completely on instinct and before I had even really registered a thought.

No matter what had brought me to this juncture, I would do anything to keep Esme safe, even burn another of my kind. It was my own fault anyway. I should not have acted so impulsively. It was not the first time I had killed one of my own, but the first time when it was not in self-defence.

The quickness of my actions could only be explained by my time sparing with the Volturi guards. Clearly my skills had been honed even beyond my own awareness. Initially when Demetri had offered to train me I had been hesitant, as I detested violence, although recognised that there were rare occasions when protection of self was needed. Demetri particularly had been fond of teaching me, and had convinced me that I needed fighting techniques in order to protect myself from my unusual ways. In many ways our relationship had taken on a role of him as my big brother, teasing me regularly, but in a way that was friendly, and ensured that I knew how to hold my own. Even though I had never had a big brother, and so could not be sure if the connection was actually similar, it had felt soothing to have someone who was looking out for me in his own way. Certainly his lessons had served me in this instance. We had a great fondness for each other and, apart from Aro I missed him the greatest.

Letting my memories of Volterra slide into the background I quickly made stock of my choices. Starkly aware that I had left myself no other acceptable possibilities, I found a place in the forest that had a heavy canopy, so the smoke would not be seen by any locals and set the body on fire. Quickly he was gone, made into nothing but ash. However, my conscience would not let those moments go. Over and over the moment replayed. He was standing there talking, insulting my wife, insinuating she was some cheap whore, making a mockery of the lengths it had taken us for her scent to be within me as it were, and then threatening to take her himself, as if she were an object. Then, even upon examination, I could find no thought in me before my teeth were at his throat separating it from his body. I had moved with the deadliness only the Volturi knew.

Staring at the smoke, I worked at moving away from my mind's need to focus on the events and dissect what happened. Rationally it was more critical that I consider if we needed to move, what this might mean for Esme, if she was at any risk, and how to face her when I got home. Discovering what had caused my actions was not nearly as urgent. However, despite my efforts, these thoughts, as they swam within me were like a tidal wave. They sucked me into the undercurrent of my mind, begging it to examine my actions. I had killed another creature, who at one time had a mother and father. I was a doctor. My first and only oath was to do no harm. Instead of words, instead of diplomacy I had acted like the kind of vampire I had always not wanted to be–one ruled by instinct. For all these years I had fought tooth and nail to be nothing like the wraith that had turned me. I might be a vampire, but I refused to be a monster.

In one movement I had become the very thing that caused me the most objection, and yet, even as I evaluated it once more, I could not get myself to regret it. My morals and conscience told me that I should regret it. My father's voice in my head almost rejoiced at my vicious action. It was like the women he had burned as witches without regard. I expected to feel guilty. I almost craved to feel remorse. In this one action, I had become more like my father than I had in all my life. The possibility that I might turn into him was repulsive. Yet, each time my mind went through it no shame occurred. Certainly, I was concerned for myself and for Esme. Absolutely, I did not like the kind of man my actions suggested that I might be.

Still, in each loop my mind travelled a part of me screamed that he had threatened Esme. She was fragile firstly, but more than that she had trusted me, risked her very being to offer herself to me as my wife. It was my role to protect her, to keep her safe. It was like the voice to keep Esme safe trumped all other possibilities, overpowering reason, and even overcoming my conscience. It was a strange and foreign feeling. Its strength within me was almost its own force, not too unlike my bloodlust. Once more, attempting to see these events rationally, I fervently attempted to reason them out.

I had shown time and again my almost overbearing need to be a good husband to Esme. I had spoken to her things that were taboo. I had violated lines of convention and polite conversation. I had agreed to share my body with her more than had ever previously been conceivable, and was exploring hers in more detail than I would have ever been able to imagine. But to kill another without conscious thought was an entirely different affair, as it was very unlike me. In so many ways that were uncomfortable, it felt as if I were a newborn again, desperately attempting to understand the impulses running through me trying to rule me.

Praying for wisdom and guidance, I gave up my attempt to think about the consequences, repercussions, and next steps. Whatever had happened, I decided, needed to be understood before I would feel content in my ability to be safe around Esme. Attempting to calm everything buzzing inside my head and instead analyse in microseconds what had happened to me between his insults and my actions was a challenge, but a task that was eventually completed to my satisfaction.

The fact that I did not appreciate his derogatory words was obvious; that they were like a request for the dual of my own era became clear to me as I evaluated myself. Whether he intended it or not, he had challenged me, and before he could even attempt to defend himself, I had risen to the challenge and bested him. It was entirely ungentlemanly of me, although I had succeeded in defending my honour and Esme's. But there was also this strong force coming from within me, in addition, that had caused my action without me warning him or offering him a fair chance, something just beyond my awareness that called to me. Thinking of Sherlock Holmes, I attempted to set aside all prior notions, all assumptions, and evaluate myself very closely. When the epiphany hit me it seemed so obvious that I seemed the fool for not seeing it before. It was impossible, improbable, and the simplest answer to my quandary. I was in love with Esme Anne Cullen nee Platt.

The shock of this truth hit me so fundamentally that all events transpiring around me ceased to exist. Even my mind stopped in its tracks. Instead the feeling that I had somehow obscured from myself filled me so fully that it was if I had gone through another transformation. It contained no pain. Instead, radiant joy and utter peace, something akin to how I would imagine standing in Our Heavenly Father's presence might be like overcame me, washing away my melancholy, my lack of purpose, and even my doubts of God's intentions. Without a doubt I had been altered through and through. It was like the scripture 1 Corinthians 5:17 "Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new." In being converted from human to vampire, I had regularly believed that I had been dying. This revelation created an internal renovation that, instead of a sense of death, gave me a felling of being more alive than I had ever felt prior. This feeling had become, in that moment, the lens through which clarified the world like humans who needed glasses. Everything became brighter and more jubilant.

Somewhere in the midst of my euphoric state the thought arrived: vampires only loved their mates. Everything else was passing interest, mutual respect, or affection. It was a great many things, including simply convenient, but what it was not, was deep abiding transformative love. For a vampire to love another, to be willing to die, to go to war for another, especially for me to be willing to do so, was the irrefutable evidence needed to conclude that she was my mate. It stood against the fact that I had always agreed with Aro's argument that although a vampire might suspect or hope that a passing human was his or her mate, the mating bond could only be formed once both parties were vampires. His reasoning had been sound. Yet, I had just killed to protect Esme on pure instinct, in no different of a manner than I would have if we had been both vampires and mated. Given what I had learned in Volterra, and my reflections, I could not find anyway to challenge the awareness that she was my mate. The conclusions were airtight, which was a relief. For, even if I stood in front of Aro today and he read me, he would be able to see her significance. My actions had not been as ridiculous as I had previously believed.

If that were not enough, my mind retrieved her confessions of her love for me that had been unwavering since she was sixteen. She had said how her love felt overwhelming at times. When she had spoken, I had assumed she had been describing intense human love. Was it possible that she also felt the mating bond in her own way at sixteen? The fact that she might have and that I had considered leaving her alone caused me to shudder. Good thing I had followed my heart that day. At the same time, where had these feelings and experiences left Esme? Would there be times when the mating bond would have her behave in ways that were contrary to human behaviour? Had it already? She spoke about requesting me visiting her home against propriety and at risk of her parents' displeasure. Had it influenced her agreement to marry me? How much of an impact had the bond being one-sided affected her? How would effect her with my awareness and it becoming two-sided?

My head swam so fast I struggled to keep up with my thoughts. The most dominant when my head had calmed some was that if she was assuredly my mate, then when she died I would be given no other. This precious human, my wife, was my one and only made by my Creator. I could imagine no one better to spend my eternity with. But in the light of today's reality, what did that truly mean? If she were meant to become a vampire, then I would have to change her. The chance that I might kill her instead caused me to reject that idea outright. What were my options? Ask Aro how to proceed or even to turn her? No, I couldn't do that. Even the idea caused me such intense protectiveness of Esme that I doubted that I would allow him within a hundred miles of her. I had no good options. Perhaps I could ask Garrett? He would respect the bond, me, and because he drank from humans, might have ideas that would never occur to me. The problem was that I had no way to contact him. My only hope would be that he would one day "stop by".

The next most intense thoughts were around the topic of whether or not I should tell Esme the truth of my nature. On one hand, given my new awareness, it felt wrong to keep hiding this from her. On the other hand, to tell her required spilling all my secrets. If we were truly mates, then what did that mean for her, for me, for us? In the Volturi the answer would be simple: turn the human. That was not the solution I was willing to pursue, but perhaps there was another. I could tell her my nature and that we were mates, but then her days would be numbered.

Perhaps these complications were why I had been unable to see the truth. Knowing she was my mate and human felt so unsteady on my end. Anything could happen and instead of morning a great companion, I would be mourning my mate. As the dread of this reality began to sink in, the rapture dulled. Eventually the elation deflated enough that I became once more aware of my surroundings. The sun was barely displaying its rays over the horizon. Without knowing it, I had spent the whole day standing in the woods enraptured. Then, in stark contrast a deep unease settled within me. Days could have passed. There was no way to really say for sure. So, even though I had not hunted and was thirsty, it seemed inconsequential next to my need to assure my wife that no harm had come to me. With the greatest speed possible I turned and rushed home.

* * *

 _A/N: So, I have a really exciting news. After writing my dissertation, and then going to my field's national conference, I came home and successfully defended and became a doctor. (Throws confetti!) I'm so excited to have accomplished this six year journey. Thank you all for your support here in this space. I appreciate you._


	18. Repercussions

**Chapter 18: Repercussions**

* * *

Only upon my foot meeting the first step to our door did it come into my awareness how my clothes were soaked through with the rain. Standing in the foyer dripping water, as fear began to consume me, it dawned on me how unlike myself I was acting. Esme had said that she loved me. Did she feel anything similar to the powerful emotions gripping me? What had her words really meant? These concerns continued to swirl around me while Esme moved from the sitting room towards me. As soon as her eyes caught mine she ran to me hugging me as tightly as her strength allowed seemingly unaware of my state.

The first expression on her features was worry.

I basked in her presence, in her warmth, in her scent. For the first time since my remaking it dawned on me that this feeling also made me incredibly vulnerable. She might not ever know how in those moments my feelings stripped me bare and left me exposed to her. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and something I was unprepared for. Yet, despite all these feelings since arriving home, miraculously, the feelings that had transformed me had lingered, still there, ready for me to embrace them once more.

Holding onto her like my life depended on it, I took gulps of her into me. By the fifth one I began to realize that my lungs as well as the rest of me held the residue of burnt flesh. Gradually, the urgency to assure Esme and to be with her receded. Then, equally as slowly the reality penetrated that showing up with the scent of death on me might have been unwise. Yet, I could not regret or stop holding onto her. Minutes upon minutes passed until the air between us became heavy.

Our relationship had had always contained secrets and things unspoken. Secrets were nothing new, but this was different. My actions were impacting us, bringing the moral implications of my behaviours into this space, into us. Even though I had killed him in a twisted form of defence to protect Esme and to protect what we had from harm, his death had still found a way to worm its way into the sacred space that was us.

In my previous raptured state, I had erroneously thought that having Esme in my arms would have magically washed away his death from my mind. It had been a foolish belief. Rather it was deeply embedded in my clothes and was becoming its own creature between us threatening to tear us apart.

Would she still love me if she knew how monstrously I had acted, how much like my father I had become in those moments? Simultaneously, my epiphany had coated my insides weighting them with its impact, but on the opposite moral spectrum.

Seemingly unable to take the oppressive silence anymore, Esme moved her body like she wanted to leave my arms and asked tersely, "Where were you?"

My fear and love combined into a force detesting any distance between us. Yet, her being in my arms would not be a gift if I forced her to be there, irrelevant of how much I might crave it. Thus, unwilling to act barbarically twice in one day, and especially toward Esme, I removed myself from her and allowed her to pull back from me. When she had done so, she looked me in the eye demanding answers.

Would my actions pollute her as well? These were the type of fears that had resulted in me year after year, letter after letter letting her be. Somewhere inside me I had known that keeping her completely from my kind for the entirety of a marriage might prove challenging. Nevertheless, the lack of barriers keeping Esme and I apart had created a hope that God would keep other vampires away until she passed on. Clearly it had been a foolish hope, as we were barely into our second year.

Each time I had faced a crossroad and veered toward listening to my heart, I had expected to be led away from Esme. Except, I had not. By some miracle and gift she was my wife. The possibility that God would not aid me in keeping her safe was devastating. It seemed cruel. Thus, the first voice in my mind was my father's and his teachings about the nature of God. Yet, even in light of these events I refused to believe in the damning judgemental God that my father preached. If no other good had come from his insistence that I learn scripture, it was that in the gospels I had found hope, grace, and redemption.

Consequently, I was at a loss of how to reconcile the nomad's arrival, my behaviour, and my beliefs in the loving nature of God Almighty. What were the chances of another five years, ten years before something happened and she met a red-eyed vampire, even if he or she was a friend of mine? Would the colour of their eyes give her what she needed in order to cross that invisible line into truth? What if this nomad had come into the city instead of seeking me out? Clearly, I had brought danger into her life, when that was the opposite of my intentions. These present truths make my hope in God keeping my kind away more than foolhardy, it made them into an self-accusation. Added was non-stop self-chastisement, even though a rational part of me knew how out of character I had acted.

What an imbecile I had been to think others would not come to my doorstep. I had failed her and yet could not convince myself to change a thing. What kind of creature did that make me? Wrestling with trying to be reasonable with myself, I could not help but curse my attempt to become a man of faith. Even if it had meant not having Esme in my life, I had to wonder if living my life like I had before meeting her would not have been better for her.

Yet, these past years had been the best of my long life, and despite what had happened, the truth deep in my core was that I would do it again if it meant that I got to find my mate, thereby keeping Esme. The selfishness of the thought was tremendous, yet nearly every articulation about love I had ever read described an emotional similar to how I was feeling. It seemed to be the nature of love to hold on tightly and not desire the object of affection to go. Even if it might be selfish, the humanness of my feelings pleased me. Thus, irrelevant of even today's events, I could not come to regret my decision to follow my heart in light of the beautiful way the feelings had altered me and still dwelt within me. It was so strong that I had to ponder if the threat had been from someone I knew, someone like Garrett, would I have acted similarly? Reluctantly I had to answer yes. Certainly, he would have needed to do more than toss out poor words, but if the threat was sufficient, my answer would be yes.

She had risked her life, and potentially her very soul in agreeing to marry me. She vowed that she loved me and had wanted to be bound to me since us meeting. She had been brave. I owed her nothing less than to keep my promises to her and continue our commitment. It was a conviction with such force that I almost became overwhelmed once more. Instead, I focused on Esme and allowed her to ground me into the present. Her concerns were what mattered. And to address those I needed to be attentive to her, not lost in my thoughts.

"I got impeded," I told her hoping and pleading with my eyes that these few words would be enough.

She squinted at me as if evaluating me. Her countenance changed slightly from relief into doubt and then something else I could not name.

"Impeded, huh?" she repeated as if in disbelief. "At the hospital?" she asked as if she were testing me.

Watching her carefully, I told her as much truth as I could, "No, on my way home."

Whatever had caused her doubt and unknown emotion my words seemed to soothe them. Had she doubted my fidelity? I had given her no reason to doubt, but who understood the mind of a woman? Clearly she was concerned about something, but seemed reluctant to voice whatever she was thinking. Added to her hesitancy was mine, as I wanted to simply put the events behind me, but suspected that might not be possible. The more we spoke on the matter, the more I would need to say. Obviously, I wanted to avoid doing so, for multiple reasons.

Pressing herself once more into me, she held on almost tighter than before. Was she afraid? What was causing these reactions? For the slightest of moments I wondered if she was reconsidering our present arrangements. The idea was revolting in light of my epiphany. However, as soon as the thought came I chastised myself. Not only had she had been unwaveringly faithful to me, and I had no reason to doubt her or us. She had spoken nothing but agreement and appreciation for our recent interactions.

After a few moments she stepped back. She looked up at me in a manner that concerned me. It was a combination of being put under a microscope and doubt in my character.

"What is that smell?" she asked accusingly.

Holding up my hands, I decided to start at assurances.

"There is no one but you, Esme. Please believe me. After work I went hiking, and from the forest I came home. If you are uncertain, let us go upstairs and you can undress me to my union suit, we can lie down together, and you can affirm that what you smell is merely on my outer garments. I am not unfaithful to you."

Her features changed again, not quite in relief, but something that looked similar. Yet, the look of incredulousness was still present. Never before had she not believed my words in the manner she was presenting. It resulted a horrible feeling within me. It was like my insides tightened and became a steel ball bouncing inside of me causing me pain that could not possibly be physical.

"The woods do not smell like," then she stepped in and purposefully smelled my outer jacket, "burnt candy corn and," her nose wrinkled, "poppy seeds." Her tone was harsh and held an accusation, as if she were suggesting that she had caught me in a lie.

"How would you even know what burnt candy corn and poppy seeds smell like Esme?" I asked lightly hoping to ease her fury and distract her.

The scent of burnt vampire was not something she should be aware of and her doing so was greatly distressing. Not to mention that it scared me how the scent was strong enough for her to discern, even with my garments being soaked through.

"That is not the point here, Dr. Cullen," she stated sharply and with a tone that suggested that my attempt to distract her had offended her.

I had no wish to lie; yet, I could not speak the truth. Looking down at her my eyes pleaded with her to let it go.

"It is an odd smell," she mused lost in her thoughts. "That is the closest I can come up with," she stated her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed together. "Nonetheless, it smells wrong. What happened?" she demanded.

My mind rushed faster than I could ever recall it doing, yet kept running into dead ends.

"I cannot tell you," I confessed after finding nothing else that could be said, unless it was a lie.

"You cannot tell me?" she repeated back to me punctuating each word with greater severity.

"No, I am trying to protect you. Please let me," I pleaded.

After moments of excruciating silence, where she was lost in thought, she finally spoke looking up at me tenderly and worried.

"You came upon someone else?" she asked gently, but the distrust and ire was still present.

Shocked at how she had reached that conclusion, her words alleviated me of any concern that she did not believe me. That, at least, was a relief.

Uncertain of how far she would push this, I answered slowly, "Yes."

"It did not go well," she stated while searching my face.

It was like my features were an open book to her. I had spent centuries keeping myself hidden from humans. Had she somehow gained an insight that none other had? It seemed likely, which created frightening implications. But that was a thought for another time.

"No," I agreed. "It did not go well."

Immediately she appeared fearful. "Are you in trouble or in danger?" she asked almost frantically.

Holding in my smile at her concern for me, as it conveyed the strength of her connection to me. "No, it was merely unpleasant," I explained.

"I am glad you came back to me, and I am sure whatever you did, if there had been another way, you would have done it. At your core you are a peaceful compassionate man, and anything that shows you otherwise, I must conclude, was due to the actions of the other party. Now give me your coat and go get cleaned," she commanded.

I stood there stunned uncertain of what to say to her.

"Now, mister," she ordered me. "Clean that smell off you. Say your prayers, and remember that God loves all his children, you included. Come and find me when you have assembled yourself."

For excruciatingly long seconds I stood astonished staring at her trying to reconcile the wife I knew to the woman standing before me. Eventually, my mind still in a whirl, I followed her instructions saying nothing more. As I removed my clothes, my mind was entirely uncertain of what to think about this side of Esme. I shed the scent that told me of how my hands had taken another's life, bathed and rubbed my skin so that none of it remained, which regrettably also took most of Esme's scent away as well. When I came back into my room, the window was open, and the clothes from today were missing.

Changing into a light union suit, slacks, and a short-sleeved button up shirt I went to my father's cross and prayed. I prayed for my soul tainted with someone else's death, I prayed for forgiveness, but most of all I thanked God for Esme and in an honest confession admitted that I would kill any and all, if that was what was necessary, to keep Esme from harm. My fervency of the emotion to protect her scared me, honestly. Without a doubt, I would use all my strength, all my skills, all my knowledge even if it cost me my soul until the threat was eliminated.

The fact that there was a limit to my Hippocratic oath and perhaps even more moral code altered my world. Who was I, if I was a husband first and a doctor second? I did not know, but also knew I could not find out in my study staring at my cross, so went to find Esme and be comforted in the knowledge that she was unharmed.

When I came upon her she was in the laundry room wet from washing the clothes from today. I felt lighter. Her remedy, along with the sound of her heartbeat had helped take away the ugliness that had dwelt within me earlier. As I watched her from the doorway, a few human memories came to me of watching other men duel due to insults of honour. If even when human, I would have been expected to defend my honour if someone had insulted Esme as that nomad had. Could the quickness of my execution be considered a blessed gift from the Almighty? The only inexcusable part of my action was in my lack of warning and in the fact that I ended him completely. Ironically, the fact that my actions tethered me to the human man I used to be and the era from which I had been raised assuaged much of my shame. Suddenly my fears that God had not cared about Esme and her welfare seemed blasphemous. Saying another prayer for another sin, I also felt more myself.

Holding up the coat she told me unceremoniously, "I already called you in sick. You are not going in today."

My mouth opened slightly, and I could find nothing to say.

"Is the smell still there?" she asked me matter-of-factly.

"Yes," I answered displeased about the smell and stunned that she would make that decision without consulting me. It did not seem like the actions of a person who claimed to want equality with me.

"We shall have a bonfire, then," she concluded quickly.

"The clothes are wet," I pointed out not knowing what else to say.

Getting into an argument with her about her making executive decisions about my life without consulting me seemed to be the opposite of helpful at this point. I did not want more discord between us.

"Then, we shall need an accelerant," she retorted as if building strength against a rebuttal. "Be a dear and get the barrel we have used before and some gasoline."

"Yes, dear," I replied completely caught off guard by her tone and demeanour, but willing to trust her and refusing to allow this to come between us any more than it already had.

I pulled the barrel out into the middle of the back yard placing it on the grass. By the time I came back my clothing were all in the barrel.

"All right, add the accelerant please," she instructed.

I added slightly more than was needed.

"Shall I or shall you?" she asked me.

Having already burnt someone today, I refused to allow Esme to get her hands dirty in any way regarding this. It was my job to protect her.

"I will," I told her.

She handed me the box of matches and stood back.

Dropping the match, I moved backwards, and together standing wrapped into one another we watched until the flames were all but smouldering within the bucket.

"Come, my husband," she pleaded and led me to the sitting room.

She sat down and indicated that I should lay my head on top of her legs. She stroked my hair and read the book I had been enjoying just yesterday. Her motion reminded me of when I had broken down. Twice in a year and a half she had needed to comfort me. Last time it led to something good. In contrast, killing another sentient creature was never the righteous action; I could only place my faith in the promise that God had forgiven me.

After many hours Esme instructed me, "Let it go, Carlisle. I have no doubt that you acted the best you could in the situation. It is over now, and God promises to forgive us if we humbly repent." Then she went back to reading as if she had never said anything.

I had humbly repented, including wishing to never harm another again, but as Demetri pointed out, "With our long lives Carlisle, if you do not wish to live in fear, sometimes you will be forced to act for the good of the whole. Those of us who choose to live differently than the majority are called to a different standard. We carry both high expectations of our own behaviour, but also a requirement to look to the greater good. Do not forget that my dear friend when you are tested. Always do what is in the greater good and never forget that we vampires live long lives and most do not forgive as you do."

Esme's reading began to falter; she was getting tired. I took the book from her hands, picked her up, carried her to her room, and after removing her dress placed her in bed under the covers.

"I love you, Miss Platt," I told her as I tucked her in adding, "I suspect I always have."

She mumbled something incoherent as I placed a kiss on her cheek.

I stayed with her sitting on the seat that went to her dressing table and thought about the evening. She certainly had acted out of character, although I had to admit it had been exactly what I had needed. Rather than looking at her behaviour from a human perspective, I considered it from a vampiric one. In many ways she had acted with the same possessiveness and protectiveness that I had when attacking the nomad, only hers had been to keep work away and wrap me in a cocoon of her love. I was not sure what Aro's wife did if Aro had a particularly difficult day, or really of any of the interactions between the spouses in Volterra.

Nevertheless, what was clear from these events more than any other was that Esme was precisely in tune with me. If there was any doubt that I had left regarding whether or not she was as much my mate as well as my wife, her actions had laid it to rest. In that moment the tremendous weight that I had worn in trying to reconcile our increased intimacy and my thoughts of my future mate dissipated. My heart had known all along. I had been a buffoon not to trust it.

That reality made my quandary of whether or not I should discuss with her the possibility of us to stop lying together, as we had been, look completely different. In truth most nomads were not like the one I had encountered today. I counted many nomads as my friends and although they would probably refer to Esme as my pet, they would not even suggest harming her. There was an unspoken rule with our kind regarding territories and humans in service–these things were not challenged, unless the challenger was looking for a fight. Perhaps this nomad was too young to know the etiquette of our ways, perhaps he was looking to challenge my territory and did so by laying claim to Esme, perhaps he had simply been a vulgar human with no respect of women and had brought that into his second life. There was no way to say.

What I knew was that Esme and I lying together had calmed her and aided her countenance. I also knew that having her scent on me had been having positive benefits to me. I could not allow some nomad to change the good that had developed between us. That did not seem like the best option for her or me. With that settled in my mind it became clear that I would only feel calmer if I could also place my scent upon her, so there would be no doubt if another nomad or coven were to come into Hartford.

Certainly my scent was on her, but it needed to be stronger in order for me to lay claim to her if I were not beside her. After thinking of many possibilities and then dismissing them, I decided that the easiest way without alerting Esme was to breathe upon her undergarments as I did up her dress, and if the moment presented itself, also in her hair. It would not stop those that might want to challenge me, but it would stop someone who obeyed the rules and hopefully give pause to anyone else. That settled I stood, looked one more time upon my wonderful wife, and went into my lab putting another swab of my venom onto a slide in my effort to learn more.

When she woke and made herself breakfast I joined her claiming to have already eaten. Watching her carefully, she seemed to be slightly more contemplative than usual, but otherwise exhibited no side effects to the prior evening's events. It pleased me that she seemed to be her regular self. Perhaps, I had underestimated her fortitude. If nothing else, she had acted exemplary and in a manner fitting for a vampire spouse, even if she had no notion of what had actually transpired. I found the idea that she responded as she had, despite her limited knowledge, to please me immensely. She was an incredible creature.

In the morning, as I fastened the back of her dress, I blew on her.

She shivered while her scents indicated her arousal. "What are you doing my husband?" she enquired.

"Blowing on you," I told her meekly. "Was it a bother to you?" I asked concerned that her shiver had indicated that I had chilled her.

"No, not a bother," she stated in that tone she got when she enjoyed what I was doing.

Delighted with her reaction I blew on her again around her nape.

"My dear husband, I must ask you to stop and subsist. I need to get going to work," she told me breathless and with longing.

"I shall escort you," I told her.

We journeyed to her workplace our conversation surrounding current events as if the transpirings of the night before had never happened.

Upon finding a small quick meal of a fox and returning home, I sat in my office staring at my father's cross. "I love her," I told the heavens. The thought that had hit me yesterday bombarded me once more; vampires only loved their mates. "She is my mate," I told my cross in awe of the truth of the statement.

My brief musings from yesterday if my awareness of her being my mate meant that I needed to tell her my secrets pulled on me once more. Included was the reminder that I no longer needed to consider my behaviour towards Esme in light of when my future mate appeared. I had been transformed and our relationship looked entirely different. The reality was that I did not want to make an unilateral decision, since as my mate my future and her future were tied for eternity. By the time I needed to get ready for work, I had decided to say nothing to her for the time being, but had not determined how to go about things with her regarding our long-term future.

Even though some things were left unresolved, other things, like our exchanging of scents, seemed even more important to me. Equally as imperative was us continuing our exploration of each other, as was my experiments. Without a future mate to consider, my withholding myself from Esme was only inhibited by her humanity. Suddenly all of those things seemed much bigger and more pressing than they had before the nomad.

I had found my mate. She was human and much more breakable than me, but I had found her. With jubilation and a healthy dose of fear for our future I headed off to work. Although my perception was that I had hidden my emotions well, I must have let some of my happiness come through, because the fellow doctor who worked the shift after me, as we were in the doctor's lounge at the end of my shift asked, "Your wife pregnant, Cullen?"

Looking at him with surprise on my features, I made sure they turned down and I frowned. "No, Kelly."

"You have a really good night with the misses then?" he pressed.

"Yes, I could say it was a good night," I answered cautiously.

"So much for being sick," he replied lightly with a gentle chuckle.

Looking at him sternly I informed him, "We had a family emergency come up, thus why she called me out sick. Nevertheless, the events, despite their unpleasantness, brought us closer together."

He frowned looking scolded. Perhaps my tone had been too harsh. "Well, no matter the reason, I'm glad to see you have a spring in your step. You are a good doctor, Cullen, but you deserve some happiness as well."

"Thank you Kelly," I told him getting up wishing to end the conversation, and offered him a "Good night."

"Good night Cullen," he told me as I walked out the door and he could be heard changing.

By the time I left the hospital, Esme would have already headed out to work, so I went to hunt, going in the opposite direction than I had two days ago. I made quick work of feeding feeling more satiated with the larger game than I had this morning and hurried home not wanting to be far from her. Travelling back, to dawned on me that this awareness of her being my mate was doing strange things to me. It was like there was a cord that I could feel between us and I did not want to stretch it too taut. For the remainder of the day, before she returned, I worked in my lab.

When she returned home she seemed more contemplative and withdrawn than usual. I said nothing, giving her the space to work out whatever was occupying her mind, and trusting that she would speak to me about it when she was ready. Each day she became increasingly worse. My next day off she had slept in her own room declining to be in my bed. In the morning she had her clothes nearly done herself, as if not desiring my assistance, and after I had done up the two top buttons asked me to leave the room. Ironically, my first apprehension was how these changes might result in my scent being barely noticable on her, yet unless I wanted to divulge secrets, there was no action I could take. By the time she returned home I had become apprehensive about her behaviour.

Thus, after she returned home and had eaten her dinner, we sat in the sitting room as usual and I confronted her, "Please confide in me Esme."

She blinked rapidly and her face rose from the page she clearly had not been reading. The smell of tears perfumed the room and my concern grew.

"My actions the other day were appalling," she muttered so softly the words were barely discernible, even to my ears.

Putting my reading material on the side table beside me, I moved closer to her.

"How so?" I asked troubled by her words.

"I behaved unbecomingly," she uttered unwilling to meet my eyes and when I reached out for her hand she withdrew it. "I am a disgrace as a wife."

Then she got up, practically ran up the stairs, and closed her door.

Frozen with indecision I remained in my seat until the sound of the lock connecting stirred me. By then it was too late.

For the next two weeks she seemed to be working at avoiding me. She spent most of the time when not in the kitchen in her room with her door closed. As each day went on it came that I could barely pick up my scent on her. It seemed to me like she was disowning me. She was polite to me when I walked her to work, but her tone was cold and detached. Giving her the space to work through her troubles did not seem to be aiding us, and she seemed almost indifferent to the distress her behaviour caused me.

When she even stopped allowing me to assist her with her clothing, and had instead purchased items that allowed her to dress alone, I decided that giving her room to sort through her own thoughts and feelings like I had that first Christmas might not be what was best. Internally I wanted to force her to engage with me and horrid images of how to do so fluttered through my mind. I would never act on such things. Apart from my own beliefs, I had promised to keep her from harm, which included my own. Ignorant of how to force her to speak with me I worked in my lab and kept an ear out for her. Saturday she did not leave her room while I was home and Sunday was the same.

Thus, unwilling to allow things to carry on as they were, Monday when she returned from her work I stood in the entryway blocking her from passing.

"Come, Esme," I instructed with authority. "Us not speaking will only continue to drive a wedge between us."

Reluctantly, looking like she was being led to the gallows she followed me to the kitchen. I had chosen it, as last time she confronted me this had been her chosen space. As she moved to the other side of the centre workspace, I watched her carefully for any indicator of what troubled her. When she stopped moving, she turned towards me, but hung her head and slouched in a way that indicated defeat.

Aware that I needed to lead the conversation, I started with, "Last time you spoke, you said that you were a disgrace as a wife. I wholeheartedly disagree. I am begging you, as your husband, to tell me how you came to such a conclusion."

She wrung her hands, took breaths in and let them out loudly, blinked to stop tears from falling, and yet continued to remain quiet.

Recognising her anxiousness, I sought to soothe her, "Miss Platt, please raise your head and look at me."

It took her many minutes before she did so.

"Even from the beginning of our fledgling exchanges, and then friendship, eventual courtship, and present marriage started with, continued with, and has been built on words. You know my thoughts, opinion, values, hopes, dreams, desires in a manner that no creature great or small, young or old, albeit Our Almighty Father, has ever known me. Our relationship from the beginning has been fragile, yet built on trust. I trusted that you truly wished for me to visit you in your home. You trusted my integrity to pay for your schooling without asking for anything in return. I trusted you with as much truth as I could offer you, so you could consider a courtship. You trusted me to purchase us a home and secured you a job of your liking.

"We might not have the physical relationship of most couples, but I would like to think that we have greater intimacy than most. Please, I cannot abide your silence any more. I need you to trust me as you have before. We have had uncomfortable conversation, awkward conversation, and disagreeable conversation. We can have another. Whatever you have to say will not break me, and I am afraid that whatever is bothering you if continuing to fester, might ultimately ruin us."

Her tears has slowed some and she nodded her head like she agreed with me, but she still looked terrified.

"Please, Esme, confess whatever improper thing is eating you alive," I all but begged her.

She let out a long sigh and keeping her eyes on the countertop told me, "I treated you like you were one of my students. I did not ask for your opinion or wishes. I called you out sick, demanded, barked orders, and all but acted like the Lord of this manor."

My features softened into tenderness and my voice was gentle and caring, "You did."

Her eyes flashed to me frowning her body appearing like it was preparing for discipline.

"And it was exactly what I needed," I told her with my appreciation clear.

Her mouth hung open and her eyes grew large.

"I have to admit that initially when you were bossing me around, I was offended. No one has spoken to me in such a manner, particularly any females, since I was knee high to a grasshopper. It disarmed me and concerned me without doubt. But the next day, after you left for work, and I reflected on what had transpired I realised that you had healed me. Your actions, irrelevant of their strangeness and social disgrace, were the exact medicine I needed. Please stop flogging yourself for acting how you saw fit."

By the end of my speech she had come round to me and wrapped herself into my arms and between tears uttered softly, "Oh, Carlisle."

We stood like that until her body indicated her discomfort.

"How about you change, even take a bath, if you need, make some food, and when you are ready join me in my office?" I offered.

"Yes, sir," she answered meekly.

"None of that," I admonished tenderly, "We are equals, remember. I am not your commander. You are not my servant."

Smiling just the smallest amount against my vest, she stated, "All right, Carlisle."

Opening my arms, I left the kitchen and entered my office leaving her downstairs, as she had moved to the parlour. Gazing at the cross, I prayed my actions were the ones best suited to healing the wounds between us. Looking back and knowing what had upset her, it seemed obvious that her actions, which had been exactly what I had needed, even if I had not known that myself, and precisely what a mate would have done, if she had been a vampire, had upset her human sensibilities. My acting against the nomad had upset me and I was a vampire! How could I have not imagined that her actions would have perturbed her?

Staring at my cross, recognising what a poor husband I had been to her of recent, I found myself angry. I was mad at that nomad insulting Esme's honour and challenging me in the manner he had, at my mother for dying so young and not having the opportunity to teach me how to be a son to a woman, and at myself for my failings. Anger was such a rare emotion for me the intensity of it caught me off guard. My desire was to roar, but knew that would disturb the neighbours, and more importantly Esme. Instead, I moved to the window, opened it, and breathed deeply letting out guttural breaths.

Irrelevant of my mistakes, Esme was alive. All the while I had been listening attentively as she entered the parlour, removed her outer garments, went to her room, changed clothes, went to the kitchen, and made herself food. I might have failed her, but she was here. That meant we could repair whatever damage between us that had been done. As I evaluated myself, awareness dawned that I was willing to tell her everything, even my nature, to assure her and heal the injury her comforting me had caused her. Fortunately, it was just about the time that I had tamed my anger that she then ascended the stairs and opened the door.

She gave me a questioning look seeing me by the window. I nodded towards the chair she occasionally read from, closed the window, and moved to sit in the other, but altered its position, so that it faced where she sat, as they had been at a V facing the room instead. Unsure of where to start, I took more breaths, drawing her scent into my lungs while she nibbled on her food keeping her eyes on her plate.

Eventually I broke the silence, "I owe you the deepest of apologies."

Her gaze travelled from the plate and to me slowly, but she said nothing.

"You were upset and instead of noticing you falling deeper and deeper into your musings, I gave you space," I pointed out.

"You could not have known," she contradicted, even though her voice was meek.

Where had my feisty strong girl gone?

"You intuited exactly what I needed on that day, and for weeks I did not for you," I countered. "I failed you."

The corners of her lips twitched. "Perhaps, then, we should agree to our faults, and move on."

Contemplating her suggestion, a part of me wanted to take her up on her offer. Instead I told her, "As tempting as that course of action might be, my deficiency these past weeks harmed our marriage. Tell me what you need to see the beauty and courage of your actions."

The silence that descended was heavy and thick only broken by the sounds of her eating. Watching her carefully, she appeared to be taking my question seriously. Eventually she demonstrated the indicators of anger, but appeared to be holding her tongue.

"Whatever is angering you, speak it, love. I can take it," I assured her.

Then, like I had created a crack in a dam, she spoke rapidly, "How can you say we are equals when you are keeping secrets? You ask me to trust you, and I do. Heavens Above, I trust you." Tears started flowing, but she did nothing to stop them. "But you come home and refuse to answer my questions. You acted unilaterally, and treated me like I was an ignorant farm girl who could not handle truth. I was so angry and worried for you. This righteous fury came over me and I demanded and ordered you about." Then, she paused and quietly added, "Irrelevant of my anger, my actions were wrong."

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to manage my own fear, I asked, "What do you want to know?"

Her eyes moved from her plate to me and she eyed me critically.

"I mean it, Esme." Sighing, as she did not seem to believe me, I expanded, "Those of us that carry the illness are ruled by a governing body. They have created rules of how to live and execute those that violate the rules. The most strict and strongly enforced rule is that those not infected shall never know of our existence. I wanted to protect you and myself from them. But, if secrets are what is destroying us, then I would rather speak plainly to you and risk them finding out about your knowledge."

She appeared sad, but nodded like she had suspected there would be consequences for spilling my secrets. I had warned her previously, not so bluntly, but enough that her acceptance of my explanation was not surprising.

"What do you want to know, my wife?" I repeated encouraging her. "Ask, and I vow to answer."

Her eyes widened and she appeared serious.

It took a while before she finally asked, "What happened to you that day?"

Keeping my eyes on her, so I could watch for her reaction, I told her, "While I was hiking I came across a man infected like me. He was speaking vulgar demeaning things about you and threatening to bed you against your will. Without forethought or even awareness until after the fact I injured him. Fearful he would retaliate and come after us, I killed him."

Her voice full of horror, she repeated incredulously, "You killed him."

Sad and scared of what she must think of me, I agreed, "I did."

She rose from her chair, put her plate on the seat, and started pacing. Her breathing became shallower as time passed.

"Do you need fresh air, Esme?" I asked concerned.

She nodded and moved out of the office, downstairs, and into the back yard. Standing on the back steps with her hands on her hips she took in ragged breaths.

The entire journey I had followed behind at a distance.

When she made the return journey her steps sounded heavier, like she was more weighed down. When she sat in the chair she placed the food on the small side table beside her.

Examining her hands she asked softly, "Is it the first time you have killed?"

Abhorred to answer, I nevertheless told her the truth, "No."

She nodded and wrestled with her hands.

Finally, long after the silence between us had turned stale and uncomfortable, she admitted, "I hear your words, but I cannot imagine you, my Dr. Cullen, taking another's life. Yet, the words I spoke on that day still ring true. I believe through and through that if there had been another way, you would have taken it. You acted in defence of us. It is challenging, however, to reconcile."

After collecting my thoughts, I told her, "I detest violence. I think that words are far better tools to resolve differences. A dear friend reminded me once, though, that on rare occasions a person, even a diplomat like myself, will encounter those who will hold no respect for others. When this happens, I am forced to act in protection of what I hold dear. However noble these actions might be, doing so does not remove the black stain from my hands."

She looked at me in understanding.

"I did not want to admit this to you, in part, because I did not want you to see this brutal part of me. But, in all honesty, I would kill again if needed. I would do possibly anything to protect what we have together."

She nodded like she heard me, but she was clearly mulling over something.

Eventually she asked, "How can I know that the violence you used against another, would not one day be used against me? One of the attractive qualities about you was your lack of violence, even in your words. I heard story after story of how my friends had admired their fiancé's ability to cut another man down, only a few years later to have him use that sharp tongue on her. What assurance can be offered to me that one day your capacity for violence will not be used against me?"

Carefully considering her words, I admitted, "You cannot. The only explanation I can offer is that my father raised me to defend myself. It was not completely uncommon for a man travelling or even for a town to be accosted by thieves where I grew up. As my father was rich and responsible for both his household and the church, we were a target of such actions. Thus, from a young age I was trained in the skill of duelling.

"Especially dishonourable men like thieves considered women of my class desirable. When my father left for business, even though my mother died in childbirth and was not in need of protection, it was my responsibility to keep safe the female servants of the house. This training, in part, was so that I would learn how to protect my wife one day. Before you, each life I took, was because of the need to protect myself. This time it was because he threatened you harm.

"So, even though I deplore violence and avoid it when all possible, I agree with my friend's advice. There are occasions when the only action is to defend and protect. In those instances violence can be a helpful tool. The first life I took was when I was a young adolescent. A younger boy had come into the kitchen with a weapon threatening the cook. I meant to only harm him, but he bled out and died. It is the only memory I have of my father being proud of me. This does not mean I wish for violence, Esme. I cannot assure you of the nuance between these things. You have to trust that even though I am not a violent man, I am capable of using violence even to the extreme of killing another in protection and defence."

The whole time while I had been speaking, Esme had watched me carefully, as if she would somehow be able to gain back the way she had seen me. As much that her fear of this part of me saddened me, there was something relieving in her seeing me more thoroughly. Her near hero-worshipping of me had been a lovely space and a pleasant surprise, but I was not a perfect creature. None of us were entirely creatures of light, otherwise the scripture, "All have fallen short of the glory of God" would have been inaccurate.

"Your words will take me time to digest," she divulged.

"Understandable," I offered to her in support of her need to process the information I had given her. "Any more questions?"

"Will there be any retaliation for your action?" she wondered.

"I do not think so, no," I told her.

"Would no one seek him?" she asked clearly confused.

"Most of those infected travel alone and have no one who will come to their defence," I explained.

After a moment, she uttered in surprise, "That would have been true for you before we wed."

"Yes," I confirmed.

Under her breath she muttered, "What a sad way to live."

Saying nothing, but appreciating her compassion, I stood up and moved the chair closer to her, working to appear human as I did so. When I sat down the chairs were an arm's length away from each other in the V they had been in prior.

Reaching out and taking her hand, I asked, "How do you feel, my wife?"

Looking over at me, she stated with sadness, "Thank you for the truth, even though it was hard. Nevertheless, it did not completely absolve me of my actions."

Keeping eye contact, I told her, "Truly, Esme, I needed you to take charge and care for me. I returned home feeling lost and you righted me. It was a moment. Perhaps there will be moments when I take charge and order you about. But as long as we do not remain in those stations and return when the moment is over to our equilibrium, I see no dishonour."

"But it came from a place of anger and indignation," she contested.

"Perhaps the anger was the fuel you needed to act so uncharacteristically," I offered. "Either way, it was the balm I needed. Do you plan on speaking to my bosses on my behalf or ordering me about regularly?"

She smiled in embarrassment, as she stated evenly, "No, I do not. It was powerful in a way, but treating you like you were a child displeased me."

"Well, there you go," I stated with a smile.

"You are a good husband, my Dr. Cullen, please do not believe otherwise. We are both learning," she requested almost at a beg.

"Only if you continue to believe you are a good wife," I bargained.

She looked down and a slight smile threatened. Then, she looked up at me and put out her hand. "Deal."

"Deal," I agreed. After allowing a moment, I reminded her, "It is my night off. Shall you be joining me to sleep?"

"Yes, please," she requested, "but I would like to bathe first."

"Agreed," I told her rising putting my hand out.

Smiling and shaking her head she left the room.

It would take time, but at least we were on our way towards recovery.

* * *

 _A/N: So, I have turned in my dissertation to the Dean and interviewed for a professor position at another University. I'm nervous, but excited. I really liked the school and am hoping they like me as well. We shall see._

 _I'm very curious what you thought about Esme's reactions to her behaviour and the changes shown in Carlisle._

 _Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts!_


	19. Confessions

**Chapter 19: Confessions**

* * *

The next few days after my confession of being a killer Esme seemed lost in her thoughts, and sad, but she was not withdrawn like before. She reached out and touched me occasionally, each time seemingly comforted by our connection. She once more requested my assistance in getting dressed, and I began adding my scent to her attire again. Especially, since I knew she owned garments where my help was not needed, these moments of assisting her were even sweeter.

It was my next night off when we were lying in bed, so that her scent could once again be carried within me, and before she fell asleep that she whispered, "I am puzzled about something, Carlisle."

Turning my head to face her, so that she might hear me, I encouraged her curious of what had prompted her inquiry, "Speak your quandary."

"You came home that night completely distraught and by the next day you were the happiest I have ever seen you. I had not noticed it immediately, due to my own struggles, but as I think back, it stands out in contrast," she explained.

Smiling I told her my first realization my voice full of the same joyful exuberance I had felt, "I love you."

She gasped her face wide in surprise. "But I thought," she started to say and then petered out.

Smiling wider I explained, "It was the events of that day. As ugly as my actions were they caused me to realise the depth of my feelings and that I love you. Then, when you took care of me, and after I sat in your room, following putting you to bed, I became aware of how much you are divinely made for me. I have been transformed." Pausing to allowing the words to settle, I then said with even more tenderness in my tone, "I love you, Mrs. Cullen. I am sorry it has taken me so long to realise it, but I suspect I have loved you for a while."

She smiled widely matching mine with a look of intense pleasure covering her face.

After a few moments her throat gritty she requested, "Would you kiss me?"

Checking to make sure there was no venom on my lips, I leaned in placing my lips upon hers.

Her lips moved against mine in a way that she had never done before. Then she opened her mouth and breathed on my face before taking the tip of her tongue and running it on my bottom lip and then top one.

I dared not move and had stopped breathing. As soon as our lips had touched there had been a primal desire within me to claim her as a husband along with an impulse to sink my teeth deep within her skin and have my venom rushing through her. Neither of us was ready for such acts, but for the first time the images rather than revolting me or shaming me felt peaceful like they would be the most natural behaviours in the world. It was shocking how the awareness of her being my mate had changed my perception of these desires.

She took her lips and tongue away from me. "Do I have your permission to continue?" she asked quietly.

Not trusting myself to speak I simply nodded my head.

She drew herself up so that her whole body was on top of mine.

I could not imagine that she was very comfortable, but said nothing.

Then starting from the back of my neck and moving along my jaw she licked and kissed nearly every square inch. The feeling of her saliva moving on my skin slowly, while a few cells persistently found a way to penetrate my granite composition, created a sensation as if she was becoming a part of me. This was nothing in comparison to the sensation of her heat seeping into me and warming me. Instead of a heat that might come from a warm day or a fire, every centimetre where her body touched mine buzzed with that current that I had felt the first time our skin had made contact. The sensation was indescribable, but gave me a sense of being a living organism in a way that was foreign and absolutely delightful.

Had the current been an indicator of us matching? Certainly, I had not felt anything exactly like it with anyone else. No doubt, Aro would have enjoyed this tidbit. Before my mind could go further, I could feel the slightly increased heat of her mounds and core as she acted. The combination took my mind to places that were more graphic than ever before. Fearful of the desires rising within me to act upon these thoughts, I locked my body into place and allowed her actions to become my singular focus.

Thus, I was lost in her efforts until she spoke bashfully, "You taste even better than you smell, Dr. Cullen." And then she licked the outside of my right ear.

Certainly vampires were intended to be attractive to humans both physically and in odour, but Esme seemed to be implying something more. Could it be that as mates my scent drew her to me and was attractive to her in the same way that her scent was to me? Were her reactions to me because of the difference of our kinds and my nature to be attractive or because of the mating bond? There was no way to say for sure, but the idea that the mating bond had something to do with it pleased me. More of what I had believed and been told by Aro regarding vampire pairings fell away.

Then, without warning, she placed my ear lobe in her mouth and slid it between her teeth. The sound was slightly grating and bombarded my hearing, but the sensation sent through my body almost caused me to capture her and trap her under me.

"Stop," I begged softly unable to handle any more.

"Too much?" she confirmed.

I simply nodded.

She scooted down my back and placed her head on my shoulder blade and then brought up the covers as if she was going to sleep in that position.

"You are welcome to repeat what you did in the future," I told her softly after a few minutes wanting to ensure she did not feel rejected.

She was silent for a long time and seemed disappointed before she eventually asked, "Even the biting?"

Pondering that I finally told her, "Maybe in a few months time. The issue was that I wanted to bite you back and was afraid that doing so would infect you."

After a minute or two she replied, "That makes sense. Tell me then, please, when you are ready for me to repeat something similar."

Smiling at her willingness to acquiesce, I told her, "Yes, ma'am." However, the more I considered it, the more unlikely it seemed that I would ask her to bite me.

She seemed to begin to settle into sleeping, so I said nothing curious to see if she could.

She took in deep breaths and I could feel her grin, but after many minutes her body relaxed and her breathing changed implying that she had fallen asleep. She was a wonder.

My confession of love had seemed to please her as well as arouse her. I was glad on both counts.

The following days she said to me "I love you" exceptionally often, and seemed to be doing it simply for me to respond that I loved her as well. Once I recognised the pattern, I took to telling her "I love you" every morning before she left for work and every evening before I headed out. Each time she grinned widely like she had won the greatest prize imaginable. Clearly I had underestimated how much these words meant to her.

For me though these words, although expressed a wonderful feeling, were not what I valued. In more ways than I dare count, words could be cheap. The amorous bliss that had come over me was delightful, but also insufficient. The same was true of my desire for her. Certainly, knowing she was my mate made these feelings relevant and an aspect of our growing relationship. However, the verse "Husbands, love your wife, just as Christ loved the church" often came to mind. Furthermore, the scriptural definition of love as being "patient, kind, does not envy, does not boast, is not proud, does not dishonor others, is not self-seeking, is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs, does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth, always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres, and never fails" was what I wanted her to see. Never did I want her to doubt my words or to wonder about the manner of my love. So, I worked at demonstrating my care for her.

This became particularly complex to do as weeks passed and she never repeated her actions of the night I professed my love. Instead, she would have half of her on me, as we had done before, and I continued placing my scent upon her each morning during her dressings. Her allowing me to do so was greatly beneficial to my peace of mind. However, her lack of exuberance and expressions of desire were odd, but surpassed by her mood, which reminded me of Christmas. Even more troubling, she seemed meeker than I had ever witnessed, as if her brazen nature had disappeared. As the time went on even the little things I had done over the last years to show her my care of her were nearly ignored. It was like she had retreated into a world where not even my affection and care for her entered.

Unwilling to wait any longer, and knowing the good my last pressing upon her to speak had done, I decided to speak to her about it. "Esme, is something troubling you?" I asked as we sat in our sitting room, my hand massaging her calf.

"Why do you ask?" she retorted her eyes remaining on the page, as if she were attempting to ignore me.

"You have not seemed yourself since our ghastly night. And although my confession of love seemed to have briefly animated you, and you seem to be less distressed, I suspect that you are still struggling," I explained.

"It is inane," she rejoined.

"Nothing about you is inane," I contested.

She then set down her book and gazed at me. After a few minutes her eyes dropped and her words, although spoken, were at the barest of whispers, "When we met I was so young and innocent. It was impossible not to see you as a demi-God. You were my angel. What I now know to be costs of your illnesses, I, at that time, used to firm up my belief regarding your angelic nature. When you became my benefactor, although I was disappointed you had not requested to court me, it cemented in my mind a childish version of you, as you had saved me from being married against my will to someone of my father's choosing.

"The lack of proximity and our letters painted in my mind something crossed between God's messenger on earth and a fairytale prince. Somehow, even your warnings and terrible proposal created something in my mind that removed you from making poor choices, from having actions you would regret, from the reality of being human. Your recent confession, although appreciated, destroyed this vestige. In my mind I recognise the need of letting it go. However, learning that you have killed others, in defence or not, has left me afraid that I do not really know you, and am somehow married to a stranger." Then she lifted her head slightly and muttered, "Like I said, it is silly."

She was admitting in originally seeing me as not human and my ending the life of the nomad had resulted in seeing me as imperfect, which in her mind associated me with her species. Even though this was a relief, the level of self-admonishment was new to me and something concerning. Had she regularly self-chastised and I had missed it somehow?

Wanting to assure her, I told her, "No, not silly." Then contemplating deeply her words and the confession they possessed I finally came to a conclusion. In the meantime she had rung her hands her eyes downcast, and I suspected she looked very much like she would have when she had known her parents were displeased with her. "Esme, please my dear, do not doubt the depth of my feelings. Your confession, although without doubt, difficult to voice, sounds to my ears as a very common occurrence. Do not most individuals when courting see the other in a more favourable light than is truth? How many of your friends, when first attracted to someone or when courting, came back to you with nothing more than positive attributes and any negative ones dismissed easily?"

She looked up from her hands and stilled herself like my words were holding her from tumbling over a cliff.

"It seems to be a human affliction to see the object of our affection as a new angelic being until we live with them and discover their fallibilities. I would be remiss if I did not confess that I too am afflicted with this ailment. It is how the doubt of your devotion to me lingered within me. In more ways than I can name, you seem deserving of much more than this half-life I offered you. Each day I feel honoured and surprised that you continue to dwell with me."

She smiled sadly, yet there was a touch of her being relieved at my confession.

"It also makes sense that, as the pedestal you had placed me upon was so high, my fall from it was bound to be severe, not to mention that my admission no doubt seems to be in contrast to my occupation as a doctor. My only explanation is that, apart from the thief I killed as a youth, each time the other person was a threat to me and what I hold dear. As you have commented more than once, I was raised with a strong sense of defending my honour. In addition to my father's instructions, in my younger years I trained in the art of defence as well as the code of conduct of those who are called to protect the greater good."

Her eyes got large and in a voice filled with disbelief asked, "You were trained to be a knight?"

Finding no better analogy for my training with the Volturi, I agreed, "Of sorts."

Shaking her head like what I had created did not make sense to her, she seemed lost in her thoughts.

Gaining her attention, I then spoke once more, "Esme, the world is a bloody gruesome place at times. Like you, I hope that the future will contain more peace than the present, but the world I came from contained much death. In the kitchen as a youth I watched as animals were slaughtered regularly, so I might eat. There were no butchers and markets like today. Coming from a farm, you must have witnessed such things."

She nodded like she was in agreement, and then at a whisper she divulged, "My father kept such things from me. And without sons, he often sent our animals to a slaughterhouse."

"I see," I replied beginning to realise how much of the brutality the world could contain had been kept from her. "I try and make the world better by my work as a doctor, how I treat others, and the way I live my life."

She looked up at me sharply, "Like how you prefer to eat fruit?"

Surprised at her suggestion, I dared not tell her that I chose fruit because it was the best way of getting away with small portions. Struggling with words that would be truth, I told her, "Yes, I try in everyway I can to respect the life around me, even in my diet."

She scowled. "Why did you never mention it? I can make food to your dietary preferences."

Smiling sadly, I tried to wiggle out of the corner she had put me in. "My darling, on your first day as a wife I told you that I would take care of my own meals. I do not wish for you to make two separate plates. I know it contrasts how you were raised to be a wife, but for me you making food for me would burden you unnecessarily. Our arrangement as it stands is fine."

She frowned and looked like she was going to protest, so I interrupted her, "Truly, please, with sincerity, I am pleased with how things stand on that accord. But I have deviated from my point. What I wanted to say is that in this way we have been raised very differently. In my childhood I was taught the importance of taking care of the animals that later fed us, to be grateful to the life given, and to never take more than we need to survive and otherwise become a glutton. This is something I still practice. But from a young age I was aware that creatures died so that I might live. This is the way of things.

"A similar truth exists for me in regards to defending myself. Most other people are lovely and generally friendly. A few are unkind. But friendly or unkind, I heal them both as a doctor. However, there are rare moments when a person, for reasons I do not know, decides to challenge me in a violent manner. They have decided to use me to sharpen themselves and prove themselves. In these moments diplomacy is useless and I am left with no other possibilities than to defend myself. I loathe taking a life, but at times I must, so that I might live.

"At those moments, I cease to be a doctor, and become simply a man keeping myself from the death another wishes to befall upon me. As your husband, I will also, without pause, take a life, if required, so that you might live. It is how I was raised. The poor creature I killed announced his intention to come and violently steal your virtue, and then kill you. I absolutely could not allow him the opportunity to follow through with his words," I told her passionately the strong feelings of the moments when he spewed such horrible things possessing me.

Esme must have noticed how agitated I had become, as her tone was soft and soothing, like she was calming a scared horse. "Be still my husband. I am here, alive and well."

When our eyes met she smiled shyly.

Taking her into my lungs, I allowed her scent and presence to remove all agitation my words had conjured.

After a moment she spoke once more. "You are correct that many of these things were sheltered from me. I do not know the reality of the slaughterhouse or war. I do not know what it means to kill a creature greater than a chicken. And I honour those men who have fought and even died for the freedom I hold dear. Many of my father's generation spoke of those they lost to an Indian raid. Perhaps, this is the gift of being a woman, of being considered being of the weaker sex. I cannot say. Nonetheless, I appreciate your words, as they remind me, that others have died so that I might live as I do. My father, although he never spoke of it, might have needed to kill an Indian or two to protect our land from their invasions. By your confessions, he too would be a killer. But that does not make him a bad man, and neither are you."

After a long pause to ensure she had nothing more to add, I stated, "As much as a man can be, I try to be, my love, but all fall short of the glory of God." Speaking as gently as possible, I added, "I am not perfect, and it would be best for our marriage if you remembered that."

She smiled sadly and replied, "I will attempt to do so."

A heavy silence descended upon us before I revealed, "I am honestly glad that you no longer see me as you did."

"You are?" she asked surprised.

"Too high of a standard to live up to," I told her with a smile. "I would rather have you see me in all my imperfections."

"Well, that might be a challenge, as you are rather perfect," she teased.

"You are a divine match to me. I can agree with that," I concurred.

"And you to me," she supported with a smile.

"Any better?" I asked.

After some contemplation she answered, "Yes, some. Putting aside my childish ways, I suppose."

"Doing so is a challenge," I supported. "No child likes to be awakened into adulthood and the realities it contains, but it is a necessity. I hope to never need to kill a person again to protect my life or yours, but I would. Please forgive me if my actions were distressing to you."

With a heavy sigh she finally said, "No forgiveness is needed. I too hope that will never happen again, but if it does I promise to honour your sacrifice and the weight on your soul that such an act requires. Can you forgive my doubts and childish ways?"

With sincerity I told her, "No forgiveness is needed for being human, Esme."

She paused, but appeared to be collecting her thoughts, so I waited. Looking at me, she said seriously, "Mark my words, Carlisle, I am grateful for your protection. I would not be in a position to defend myself if a man were to force himself, and the thought of someone taking what by rights belongs to you as my husband turns my stomach."

Reflecting back, I asked, "Do you still sense that you do not know me?"

She smiled demurely. "Perhaps, in some ways I did not see you clearly, Carlisle. Your character still holds true, but this fallible creature that is before me is new."

Gazing intently and holding her eyes, I told her earnestly, "It is still I. It is only your perspective that has changed."

She bowed her head to me in a movement that seemed to indicate her hearing me and agreeing to my assessment.

As I spoke the words, I realized how much they were true for me as well. The truth of loving her and her being my mate changed a great many things for me, but she was still my Miss Platt and in most matters my epiphany did not change the way I behaved towards her.

We never spoke of the matter again and although occasionally repeated exploring each other as we had previously done, had not progressed in any way. Many times Esme would still or withdraw and it seemed like we were in a holding pattern. I was not interested in moving forward rapidly, but the lack of progression caused me to begin to fear that we had reached the pinnacle of what was possible for us.

On a more positive side, our stalemate had given me time to conduct work in my lab. My experiments had given me some information. My venom was not, in itself coercive. Comparisons between venom and a sample of Esme's saliva produced no apparent differences in consistency, density, or properties. My conclusion was that the differences between venom and saliva must be at the genetic coding level and began getting as much information that I could, but humans seemed to know very little about the topic. Interestingly, when my venom and her saliva were placed on a slide together they appeared to be able to exist in the same space without any changes to either. Albeit interesting and infromative, it had told me little about what we could do safely with one another.

It was coming into the advent season once more when Esme, out of the blue, while we were both reading on our sofa asked me, "Carlisle, would you please tell me a story about one of the Christmas' of your youth?"

"If you will share one of yours," I offered.

"Deal," she agreed. "You first please,"

Thus, began our new ritual of sharing stories of our past Christmases. It was a delightful way to get to know her better, and allowed me to have a sense of us growing closer together, even if it was not in the physical realm.

Christmas Day after my shift, we had just returned from the Christmas service undoing our scarves and hats when I found myself filled with the awe of the season and what we had between us.

Turning to her, I offered her my gratitude, "Thank you for marrying me, Miss Platt."

"You're welcome," she replied seeming surprised at my words.

Even though I had been vacillating for weeks about whether to push things forward, the look on her face reminded me of when she had asked for me to initiate things between us more. Perhaps this was one of those times when she needed me to take the first step.

Ensuring my tone was soft and contained no element of persuasion, I offered, "As my first gift for this season I would like, with your permission of course, to remove your brassiere and explore you more."

Her eyes dilated and her desire filled the space between us. Yet, it took her many long minutes before she squeaked out, "Yes, you have my permission."

"If it is alright, deviating slightly from our standing agreement, I would like to surprise you some, but only on the condition that you do not wish to proceed with what I have planned, that you tell me to stop," I requested.

Again her voice squeaked some when she replied, "Yes, I can do that."

Putting my hands on her arms, I brought them down and slowly pin by pin took off her hat and let her hair down. Then, I put out my hand and waited for her to place her warm one in mine. There were many ways of expressing how much she meant to me, and what was important to me was not how far we went before it became too much for either of us, but that I remind her how to be the brazen vulnerable woman who had married me.

We travelled into her room and I repeated that which had grown more familiar to us. In exchange she removed my shoes, outer jacket and vest. When she was standing in only her undergarments I looked into her eyes to check that she was still giving me permission to proceed. She seemed to have nothing on her features other than desire and anticipation. Slowly giving her time to object, I moved behind her. Running my finger along the space between her neck and the top of the bra, her skin prickled and her hairs stood upright. I then took the silk bow into my fingers and slowly, minding my pressure and strength, pulled at the bow undoing the very top. Then one by one I undid the eyehooks admiring and often touching the skin that was exposed from this action.

When the last hook was undone I suggested to Esme, "Why don't you go lie down on your stomach on the bed?"

Holding the brassiere by her hands being crossed under the front she walked gingerly toward the bed.

"Would you pull down the covers to the sheets, please?" she asked her voice showing her nervousness.

"Certainly," I told her, and then did as she requested.

Lazily I watched as she lay down and then lifted herself slightly so that she could bring the brassiere out from under her.

Before she became completely settled, I requested, "Would you move more to the centre of the bed?"

She nodded and slid herself more towards the middle.

"Lights kept on or off?" I asked.

"Off please," she requested.

Moving to the side lamp, I turned it off, and then easily and without concern climbed onto the bed.

I placed myself over her sitting on top of her rump with my weight on my legs and knees and started to press my hands into her back giving her a massage. As I had hoped, this motion allowed her to relax. When her body appeared less nervous, I leaned over her putting my body next to hers while keeping my weight on my legs and arms making sure my torso was away from her. Initially she tensed, but then after time passed once again relaxed.

"I am going to lift myself slightly and when you are ready turn over and face me," I instructed her. "But if you have changed your mind, or do not wish to, that is just fine."

I lifted myself giving her enough room to do as requested. While waiting for her to decide what she wanted to do, I paid attention to how her proximity was affecting me. I was grateful that we had gone so slowly in our explorations of each other, especially since my discovery of my love for her. This was mostly because, although my instincts were calling me towards her, I had sufficient practice taming them. Thus, I felt confident in my capacity not to act on such impulses.

Eventually with a deep breath she turned over. Once she was settled, I brought myself down so that we were barely touching. Her face appeared enraptured.

After she seemed to adjust to this, I checked in with her, "I am going to sit up now."

She nodded saying nothing.

Checking in with her once more, I slowly lifted myself up, placing myself so that I was yet again sitting on top of her, each leg on the outside of hers, only this time her core was beneath me. Despite the proximity, I ensured nothing of us was touching other than our legs. I put my hands on her arms keeping an eye on her face at all times. Slowly my hands moved up her arms to her shoulders and then across her collarbones.

She watched me carefully as if half expecting for me to reject her in some way. Perhaps exposing this part of herself to me or the position created a vulnerability for her that equalled my hesitancy in her exploring my chest.

"Are you alright, Esme?" I asked needing to check in.

"I am enjoying your touch," she answered, but her tone was even.

Resting my hands on her stomach and moving them in small circles, I noted, "You seem more nervous than usual."

She appeared shy, while also attempting to gather her courage.

Giving her all the time she needed, I stayed quiet while moving my hands a little to include her side down to her hips.

Eventually with her brazen vulnerability that was uniquely my Esme she asked, "Do I please you?"

Smiling at her question, I answered, "How could you not?" Then, broadening my smile I moved my hands upwards covering her mounds with my palms and fingers. "You are slightly larger than each hand can hold, giving me a sense of having territory I cannot explore at once." Moving my hands into a slight massaging manner, I added, "But these physical attributes and the stunning tapestry that is your body pales in comparison to your trust in me, in opening yourself to me, and to the permission you have given me."

Her smile was pleased and slightly embarrassed. After a moment she asked, "Are you nervous?"

"That I might hurt you," I admitted.

With a small knowing smile she assured me, "My dear doctor, we are both concerned. I suspect this is because we care deeply for the other. I am afraid of tempting you into behaviour that would shame you. You distrust my body's responses, since you do not understand them. Trust that there are more things we share in common in this experience than we do not."

Amazed at how she saw the world, I told her, "I shall try."

With a cheeky grin, she stated like she was ordering me, "Now end your speaking and continue your explorations."

Grinning broadly, I uttered, "As you wish," while leaning down and pressing my lips to the skin between her mounds.

Moving myself to sit back up, I placed my hands at her neck and slowly moved down her front to her belly button staying in the centre. Then, I moved my hands around her torso exploring this before hidden aspect of her, thoroughly enjoying myself. Slowly and carefully I moved my hands upwards exploring everything from the centre to the sides and back again. When I reached her mounds I circled around them delicately observing her closely once more. Then ever so slowly and gently, I moved my hands from the sides towards the centre with the lightest touch, pausing when each one rested in a palm. Her eyes were closed, but her features conveyed nothing less than divine pleasure.

Even though I was keeping an eye out for her no, touching her in this way was challenging, as my whole essence wanted to immerse myself in the feeling of her flesh in my hands. It was the most exquisite feeling. Her giving of this aspect of herself to me was the most generous of gifts and I felt privileged in a manner that I never had before. I shifted my hands slowly testing out what movements excited her. I moved my hands so that my fingertips could explore this part of her and a few times placed her peaks in between my fingers mesmerized at how the blood increased, how it became more taut and perk, how the blood flow increased the temperature of this part of her body slightly, and the sounds she made. At a certain point her legs began to twitch and her torso moved as if searching out something. Perhaps her body was seeking for release and my actions were adding to the urgency of such a yearning.

"Shall I stop?" I asked concerned.

"Oh heavens above no, please no Carlisle," she practically begged her voice full of longing.

Smiling at her hunger, I felt a sense of pride for how my movements were affecting her.

As I continued my exploration of her from her shoulders to her waist, the dips and the valleys, the mountains and the hills, she seemed to move more. In fact, a number of times her hips came upwards as if searching for me. Carefully and with concern I brought my body closer to her core, allowing there to be the barest of touches between us. Even with my union suit, pants, and her undergarments between us, the heat coming from her was immense. Between her heat and the feeling of her in my hands my member hardened to the greatest degree I had ever felt. Then, in a shocking movement she moved her hips upwards and increased the pressure against me and began to rock herself. The motion created a building of tension in my lower regions that begged for release. Was this what she was feeling?

Quickly I calculated my control, my ability to stay this close to her and not hurt her in any way, and what might be the risks involved in what we were doing. With careful consideration I moved my hips in a way that allowed her core more direct pressure to my member and lowered myself onto her just a fraction of an amount. Then, I locked my lower half in place. This position seemed to be what she had been searching for as she began rocking even more, especially when my hands cupped her mounds or rolled her peaks between my fingers.

The tension within my nether regions continued to build as she made the most glorious sounds. Then, as if playing with my sanity she stopped keeping her noises behind her lips. Her moans and groans along with her look of concentration and bliss seemed to send a message directly into my member. Whatever release she was searching for I hoped she could find and attempted to hold myself in check in the meantime. At one point my finger tips were on the bottom of her mounds right where they met her chest and my hands were on her sides directly above her hips when I noticed that my hold was a little too firm and a slight bruising was appearing where my fingertips had been.

I moved my hands from her and went to speak when she spoke in a guttural and demanding way, "Please, Carlisle, do not move away." Then, she took her hands which had been fisting the sheets under her and with her eyes closed found my hands that had been resting aside her and placing them on top of her mounds. "Please don't stop, Carlisle. I beg you."

Then, just like that she put her hands back onto the sheets and seemed lost in whatever place she had been before.

Being more careful this time, I tried to manipulate all her spaces without harming her. Her scent combined with her arousal had become so thick in the air that I could feel its heaviness pressing into where my skin was exposed. This combined with her movements made me staying in place incredibly challenging, not to mention that her motions were begging for me to release myself and I refused to allow it. Whatever she was searching for would come first. Another twenty minutes later with her increasing in breathing and tempo she let out a guttural sound and everything about her relaxed.

A wetness seeped through her undergarments and could be felt through mine and told me that my hypothesis was correct: she did have the capacity for release similar to a male. Feeling safe with my garments on and wanting to experience what she had alongside her, I moved my hands to rest so that my thumbs pressed against her skin and my palms were flat against the bed, and then pressed myself a little more into her heat allowing myself to fully take in the sensation of her under me. In a few seconds my own release came. The feelings that filled me were unlike anything I had ever experienced before and immediately I wanted to do it again. It took my full concentration to not tear the sheets or lean in and kiss her. Instead, I looked down at my sweet bride with reverence and knew that what we had done had taken a lot out of her, for although her eyes fluttered open, she looked like she was more asleep than awake.

"I will be right back," I promised her.

Getting off her, I brought the covers up to keep her warm and went to my room. Waiting until I was in my own room, I took in deep breaths and attempted to calm myself. The familiar scents of my room helped, and it did not take me more than a second. I changed my clothes and used a hand towel to dry myself, setting it aside along with my soiled undergarments for me to burn the next time she was at work while I was home, before returning to her side. I stopped breathing before entering her room for safety's sake, and then opened the window a touch to allow in fresh air. Placing myself over the covers, I lay down next to her on my stomach and watched her sleep.

Even before the sun rose her breathing changed and her eyes fluttered open.

Turning to look at me, her eyes held adoration. "You're still here," she uttered sleepily.

"Yes, my love." After a pause I asked, "Was that all right?"

She smiled widely. "Of course."

Once Esme seemed more alert I told her, "I would like to talk about last night some, if this is a good moment for you."

"Of course you do," she huffed, but smiled indulgently at me.

Waiting, I simply watched her.

"It is challenging to explain, Carlisle. I know you are a scientist and want to understand things, and especially things having to do with us, but somethings simply do not have words."

"Try," I pleaded.

"Only because I love you," she told me playfully. "Your touch of me was incredible. My heart rate increased, I felt warmer all over, but particularly in my private regions. It was like my top half was directly connected to my bottom half. The more you touched the stronger my need became, for what I was not sure. But you never made me feel self-conscious and even though I considered holding my body in check, I instead listened to what it wanted and did what felt natural." She looked over at me worried. "Was that alright?"

"Of course," I agreed easily. "Have I not repeatedly asked that you listen to your body?"

She smiled widely. "You have."

"Then, you did exactly as I have requested," I assured her.

Even though it was not how I had meant the words originally, I was glad that she felt comfortable and free enough with me to follow her body in this way.

"Good," she stated, then, after a brief pause, asked with concern coating her words, "Did I harm you in any way?"

"No, but I did you," I admitted ashamed.

"You did?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes," I confirmed upset at myself and told her, "I used too much pressure at one point and bruised you."

"Where?" she asked confused.

"On both your sides right above your waist."

She lifted the covers and looked at herself. Calculating human capacity it seemed highly unlikely that she could see herself in this light. "I cannot feel what you are talking about, Carlisle. Are you sure?" she asked looking in my direction.

"Certain," I told her before holding myself in place and taking in a breath. Fortunately, the air from the window had deluded our previous evening's activities, so it was only marginally difficult to show no reaction.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "So either it was so minor that it was repaired in my sleep or you have such great eye sight that you can see bruising that I cannot. Which is it?" she claimed.

"Perhaps it is the light," I hedged.

"Carlisle Cullen," she warned. "The lights were turned off last night just as they are now. The sun has yet to rise. And unless you turned on a light that I do not remember you are implying that you saw a bruise in the dark. I want the truth," she all but mandated.

Why was I such a fool when it came to her and forgot these details before I spoke? There was so much she never questioned, but when it came to these sense differences she had always noticed quickly and asked. For the first time I wondered if this had anything to do with her being my mate. Was I so comfortable that it allowed me to speak as if we were the same? Was she unusually attuned to me?

Her glaring in my direction in the dark forced me to focus on her.

"I do not need light to see as you do," I explained.

She pursed her lips. "Can you see me now?" she asked probing.

"Yes," I replied.

"Clearly?" she pressed.

"As clearly as if the lamp were turned on," I told her hesitantly.

She frowned and her eyebrows furrowed into her thoughtful expression. After a few minutes she asked, "So, even though the lights were off last night you could see me in my underdressed state?"

"Yes," I told her.

"Then why did you agree for the light to be off?" she asked half irritating and half curious.

"Because it seemed important to you. I wanted to make you as comfortable as possible," I explained.

"Hmmm," she muttered. "Did you like what you saw?" she asked bashfully.

"Undeniably," I told her fervently. "You are an incredible creature."

"Well, since your eyes seem to work fine in this light, pull down the covers and examine the bruises you claim for yourself," she insisted.

After looking at her carefully and seeing no hesitation on her part, I started to move the blankets down. As I did so, she closed her eyes. The bruising was there, but already being repaired. "You are healing fine. I am incredibly sorry, Esme. Please forgive me."

"Should I ask for your forgiveness for my actions then?" she retorted.

Placing the blankets back upon her, I tried to ascertain her meaning. After a few minutes I admitted, "I am sorry Esme, but I do not understand."

"I never asked Carlisle if I could move as I did or use your body in the way that I did. Admittedly I was very caught up in the moment and simply following what felt good, but I broke our rule."

"I did not object," I pointed out.

"No," she agreed hesitantly, and then countered, "but we had agreed that we would go no further than what was discussed before we started."

"True, but then I had asked you to trust me with my gift," I mused. "Do you regret your actions?" I asked uncertain.

"Not so much as I regret whatever guilt you feel. I have overheard many a woman describing how sore they felt after intimate relations with their husband. If I had not pushed beyond what you had planned, perhaps you would not have accidently placed too much pressure on me."

"Oh," I muttered my mind suddenly recalling overhearing loose nurses talk about similar expressions of being sore and seemingly boasting at times about it.

"And, Carlisle, you did no lasting damage. I know it pains you to hurt me in any way, but I suspect that many couples experience these missteps."

"Yes, I suspect that might be true," I agreed reluctantly leaving out how greater my capacity for harm was than a human male.

"Did I go too far?" she asked anxiously.

"Further than I expected, certainly, but no. We could not have predicted how your body responded. And, in fairness, Esme, I did reposition myself to aid you in whatever your body was searching for." I paused watching her become embarrassed. "Would you mind telling me what resulted?"

She smiled bashfully and looked over at me. "I do not know if I have the words, Carlisle, but it was like being filled with laughter and happiness from the inside exploding into every part of me. It was entirely blissful and I want to do it again." Then, she giggled lightly.

"You do?" I confirmed.

"Did you experience something similar?" she asked self-consciously.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you not enjoy it?" she asked glumly.

"I enjoyed it so much that it took great will power to leave you and clean myself up, but then I was pulled back to you. This is a dangerous thing, Esme. It causes us to lose ourselves to our instincts and to crave one another in a primal way that could cause you to be hurt."

"Hurt how?" she asked softly as if she was committing some grave sin by asking.

"That I could do something to damage you more than a bruise," I told her grimly.

"Infect me?" she asked her tone holding a touch of conspiracy that was concerning to me.

"Possibly," I answered worried of what she was thinking.

"Would that be so bad?" she asked her face downcast the sound of her voice barely producing the sounds.

"Please, Esme," I groaned taken back and upset. "Do not speak about such things!"

"You do not wish this for me?" she pressed subdued in her questioning, although I could not ascertain whether her tone was my harsh statement or simply the topic.

"I do desire it, I cannot deny that I do, but there is more of a chance that you would die than survive," I told her grievously.

"I see," she stated clearly.

"You are sure that you do?" I verified.

"There is a part of you that wishes for us to be more alike in this way, but there is a grave risk that such an attempt might result in my death instead. Thus, you are unwilling to take the risk." Her statement sounded perfunctory, but there was a deep sadness under her words.

"You sound sad, Esme. What is it?" I asked.

"Do you age Carlisle?" she asked out of the blue.

My face took on a look of shock. "What?" I asked.

"I suspect you do not, at least in appearances or perhaps much slower than myself. I suspect, in fact, that I would be buried in the ground and you would look more or less like you do now." Tears began to form.

"Come here," I petitioned while holding onto her shoulders and bringing her near.

She allowed herself to be pulled into me as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Did you think I would never find out, Carlisle? How many years would go by before it became obvious? In sickness and in health till death do us part. That was the contract we made in front of man and God. Except you do not get sick and although I have no doubt that you can die, it seems as if I will pass long before you."

I kissed the top of her forehead and rested my chin on the top of her head. The indirect rays of the sun began to peek into the room giving it a light yellow glow. After she had stopped crying I told her simply, "I have no good answers, Esme, except that I love you."

"We have time, don't we, before the differences between us become too apparent?" she questioned.

"Yes, my darling. I am confident with your artistic talents that we could find a way of aging my appearance sufficiently enough so that people would believe me to be in my mid to late thirties. Not to mention that you, my darling, barely look any different than you did at twenty. We have lots of time."

She looked at me with disbelief and then asked with fear being clear in her tone, "Will your experiments include how to give me your virus without me dying?"

"Esme," I asked carefully. "Are you sure that would be what you want? I promise you that it is a difficult life."

There was a long silence between us. Eventually she answered, "Yes, Carlisle. Till death do us part. If this is what it takes to keep my vow and be with you to the fullest extent possible for us, then yes. No one lives forever, but I would rather a hundred years with you, if such a thing were possible, than thirty."

Sighing heavily I promised, "Then, yes, I will look into it. It will take time, Esme. You are asking me a very difficult thing, and I refuse to spend my time locked in the basement when I could spend it healing others and being with you. We have time, and I solemnly vow that I will see if there are any options."

"I couldn't ask for more," she told me before she kissed my Adam's apple. After a few moments she pulled back. "Would you permit me the honour of touching your skin?"

"You want me to remove my union suit?" I questioned.

"The top half at least. You have permitted me to do so on your back. Perhaps now I might do the same in the front?" she asked softly.

Before my mind could remind me the dangers of doing so I smiled and told her, "Yes, that would be acceptable."

* * *

 _A/N: So, I have to admit that Esme's views on Native Americans were hard for me to write. I personally see these "frontier land owners" as claimers of land that were not theirs to claim, not to mention by personal belief that land cannot be claimed. As I said in the first chapter, just because I write it doesn't mean that I agree. ;-)_

 _Your thoughts inspire me, so thank you!_


	20. New Frontiers

**Chapter 20: New Frontiers**

* * *

More gently than I could have possibly imagined, once I lay prostrate on the bed with her sitting next to me, she started with my right hand wrapping her hands around my wrist and using her fingers to explore the grooves between my hand and arm. Moving up my arm her touches explored my biceps giving careful attention to my elbow and shoulder.

As she explored me, I basked in her touch, in the warmth she added to me, how her oils were covering my skin, and the electric current that lingered like shockwaves. The sensations were consuming and I found myself needing to close my eyes, so that I could ensure that I did not demonstrate any outward signs of my inhumanity. When she moved past my shoulder and to my neck my blissful state was startled with my brain suddenly becoming aware of the fact that her hands would discover no pulsing of my heart. How she had managed to convince me to do this baffled me. It was like I was putty in her hands. Trying to find an answer to this oversight, I wondered if my lack of forethought had to do with her being my mate.

As if she sensed my hesitancy, she moved herself and began to explore my right side starting with my hand once more. When she returned to my neck yet again my eyes popped open. She looked down at me with a touch of sadness.

Reaching my hand to her face, I pleaded with her, "Please my gorgeous wife do not be sad. I simply was not prepared for the sensations you create within me."

Her face took on a more neutral appearance, but she seemed disappointed.

"Shall I turn over and we see if I can manage your ministrations in a little bit?" I offered to her as a kind of compromise.

The edges of her lips lifting as she told me, "Not quite what I was hoping for, but agreeable."

"I'm sorry, Esme," I told her while turning over.

Once I was settled, she kissed my back telling me, "It's alright. I'd rather you be honest. Hopefully one day."

"Without a doubt one day," I assured her.

Adding to her gentle touch, with more force than prior she pressed her hands into my back, placed kisses upon my skin, and generally caused me to lose all sense of coherent thought. Her touching me seemed to also simulate her, as I could hear her bodily systems increase their pace.

"May I lay on you?" she asked.

"Please do," I told her wondering why she had asked, since she often laid upon me as she fell asleep.

"Promise you will ask me to stop if you need," she pleaded her voice sounding both shy and determined.

"All right," I told her unsure of what had brought this on.

At first she just laid upon me as she had done that first night, but then she began moving, rubbing herself along my body. I could feel her sweat, along with her fluids, dripping upon me sometimes rolling off me onto the bed, but occasionally, when I was lucky, seeping into me. My body desperately wanted to move as well using the friction the bed sheets and my garments might give me. My hands sought to hold onto something, but I restrained them, forcing myself to be still, as stillness was far more easily explainable than ripped sheets or worse some claw marks. Her movement increased, her breathing became more laboured, the loss of liquid from her core increased in quantity until she eventually made a sound that could only be described as a mewl before she stopped, wrapped her hands around my sides and fell asleep.

Desperately I wanted to hold her or at least breathe, but did neither. Her behaviours had aroused me to a painful point, and although the intensity had decreased a little, I was uncomfortable. Yet, I was so pleased that she had found a release again and that she was not hurt, as the time ticked by I came to a place of gratitude.

About an hour later she roused and I could feel her eyelash brush against me.

"Did I harm you, my husband?" she asked still groggy.

"Not at all," I told her adding, "I found that quite pleasurable and acceptable. You have my permission to repeat that anytime you like."

"Really?" she asked sounding equally surprised and pleased.

"Yes," I replied saddened that such a small thing would give her such happiness. "I do wish you to be happy."

Pulling herself closer to me, she told me, "I am more than happy, Carlisle. Perhaps blissful would come close. I cannot explain it properly. Maybe it is because this is not a fairy tale or some mirage. In so many ways the reality of our life together, especially the difficult parts, allow me to know how much you care for me. You are honest, do not shelter me like other women often are, trust me, respect me, and defend me. In how you walk with me to work, take me to the park and have a picnic, in your experiments, and in our physical intimacy you have shown me that you love me. You have given me far more than I can imagine. Gratitude will never come close to describe the blessing it is to be your wife, not in spite of our challenges, but because of how you handle yourself in the midst of them. Even in the worst of moments your words, your action, and very being tells me how much you care for me. What more could I ask for?"

Stunned at her gushing, as she had never done such a thing before, I simply smiled pleased that she considered me a good husband to her and with earnestness told her, "I want to give you the world, Esme, and wish that no harm come to you."

"I know," she agreed. It felt as if she was grinning ear to ear.

We stayed like that long after her stomach made noises demanding attention and after she should have gotten up to go to work. The longer that we stayed that way the less sexual it became and instead was more sensual and intimate. This was my mate and my wife. I had been blessed two fold and even though we were not of the same species our position seemed natural and comforting. It was a silly notion, but I could not help the thought that her oils and thus scent would be contained within my back.

When she finally arose she told me calmly and with almost with a dismissive tone, "I must freshen up. Stay and breathe. Do your testing as you have. I will be a while, as I must also attend to some other matters." Grabbing her robe, she exited her room, went into the washroom, emptied her bladder, and then took to the stairs.

She could be heard asking the operator to connect her to the school. When she reached the matron she told her, "I apologise, Miss Ward, but I will not be able to come in today."

"Is everything all right, dear?" Mrs. Martin enquired.

"Well enough that I will see you tomorrow. Please excuse the late notice. I do apologise."

"Accepted, I am merely surprised," Mrs. Martin assured her, "since apart from that nasty sickness you acquired previously, you have never been out."

"I plan on it remaining that way. Thank you for your understanding. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, Mrs. Cullen."

She returned the phone to the cradle and then retook the stairs pouring herself a bath.

In the meantime, I had taken in deep breaths analysing the scents in the air matching the precise manner since Esme had first suggested this method of investigation. As usual where she was in her monthly cycle could be easily found. Also, many of the chemicals that created her arousal, which I had come to be able to distinguish over the last two years, were present. However, there were new scents, which I suspected were related to her release. There was a dried wet spot on the sheet that caught my eye. I moved closer and took in a deep breath analyzing its components. There were amino acids, carbohydrates, proteins, prostatic acid phosphates, glucose, fructose, and a few other acids that were not easily catalogued.

Returning to the bed, I returned to my back and tried to figure out what was the best course of action. She never said so directly, but in so many words she had just asked me to change her. I was equally grieved and elated at such a request. Was she on to something? Could I inject her with my venom without the need to bite her? Subcutaneous injections were used in the hospital for pain relief. Could such a method be employed? If so, how could my venom be collected in order to be put into such a device? And how much would be needed for the change? Could human medicine be used to assist her in going through the transformation painlessly? There were many questions, but once again Miss Platt had opened a window of opportunity that I had not previously considered.

I listened to her goings on in the bath and completed my tests when she moved down to the kitchen. Upon completion I got up, opened the windows, and stripped her bed of the sheets and then remade the bed with clean ones. Next, I went and washed myself in the tub. As I lay in the water considering the previous night and this morning, I realised in horror that Esme would probably not object to the risk that could exist in me licking her or holding her peeks in my mouth. Or even … the images of what I could possibly do to her if we risked fluid exchange were graphic and vulgar while stimulating. I was not ready for that. I needed more data and to understand the risks better.

No, I told myself. Maybe one day, but we would not venture down those paths until I knew more. No matter what possibilities that had become available to us, they were not worth testing on Esme and risking losing her. No, she was too precious and her life and our bond were not to be trifled with no matter how much my body might crave giving into those images. One day at a time was how I had lived my life before Esme and had continued to serve me thus far. That was all that I could do and today, in a few hours, I would need to go to work.

Going to my bedroom after drying myself, I found suitable work clothes and went to my office confident that Esme would come to me if she wished my company. When she did enter she came in her robe with a nightgown underneath looking incredible. Despite her state of dress, in my office I trusted myself with her scents and took her into me. Even though I could catalogue every particle on her, there was something more. She smelled wonderful, like a crisp winter's evening or a spring morning after a rainfall. Her scent, which had always called to me in ways others had not, seemed to pull on me in new ways. Something had changed irrelevant of how many breaths I took, and no answer came.

"What has you puzzled?" she asked me without moving her eyes from her book.

Smiling at her attunement to me, I replied, "Your scent has always enticed me, but it seems to have grown in its capacity to do so, and I cannot determine why."

She looked up and her eyes found mine. Softly, as if hesitant to give voice to her words she uttered, "Perhaps your attraction to me grows the greater you share yourself, including your secrets, along with learning me, and thus the more your concerns wane. Therefore, the more you feel at ease the greater quantity you allow yourself to embrace your desire." Then, she smiled demurely looking shy and hesitant.

It pleased me that she was being brazen once more, even if it was slight, and thus returning to herself, but it seemed like she was still holding herself back.

Letting these things go for the moment, I focused on her hypothesis and found myself unable to find any fault with her reasoning. She had said multiple times how she suspected that my reactions, particularly emotional ones, were hampered by my thoughts. Perhaps this ability had supported me in resisting human blood as a new vampire, but it did not seem to be serving me with Esme. Certainly, I did not want to harm Esme, but it dawned on me that it might have been responsible for my inability to recognise her as my mate. Assuming she was correct, her assurances that I needed to be mentally comfortable appeared to be the only way forward.

Gazing at her lovingly, I asked my voice soft and full of reverence, "How is it that you know me at times better than I know myself?"

Smiling at me like she was pleased at my words, she offered, "Perhaps it is the gift of being a wife, as many of my friends seem to have the same capacity."

Chuckling at the truth her statement might contain, I agreed, "You womenfolk are certainly incredible creatures."

Giggling back she uttered, "Back to mythical creatures again my dear Dr. Cullen? And here I thought you were a man of science."

Turning serious in a manner intended to tease her, I asked, "Cannot I be a man of science and a man of faith?"

She seemed to take my question seriously and it took her a while before she answered, "I cannot see why not."

Smiling broadly, we both returned to our reading.

As the time passed with us both focused on our activities a warm contentment settled into me, and I found myself more reluctant to leave her than usual.

My next night off laying in her bed with my union suit turned down, ready for her to come in and sleep, she came into the bed and curled up beside me placing her hand on my lower back running her hands along my back.

She was unusually quiet before she asked softly her curiosity apparent, "How did your tests go my love?"

"Well," I answered distracted by her ministrations.

"Did you find release?" she asked bashfully after a few moments.

Her question took me by surprise and I stilled momentarily.

Once I recovered I told her, "No, but you don't need to concern yourself. Your contentment was sufficient."

"Humph," she grumbled. After many long moments she added, "I don't like that. That simply will not do, Carlisle."

Smiling at her insistence, but unwilling to suggest anything I waited.

"You found release the first time I did, you said?" she asked eventually.

"Yes," I agreed enjoying feeling her body's behaviours in response to the conversation.

"You could rub yourself against me again," she offered in an questioning manner as if she were pondering and trying to solve a puzzle.

"I could, except last time I bruised you," I reminded her.

"Hmm," she mused. "Would it work for you to lie on the bed as you are and find it that way?" she wondered.

"Probably," I admitted reluctantly.

"What is stopping you, then?" she pressed.

"Really, Esme, I'm fine." I insisted uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I don't care what you say, Dr. Cullen. I don't like this," she told me with a pout.

"You know," I said modulating my tone to slightly deeper, "when I lived in Italy I heard of a group of men in India that never released and they only pleasured the woman."

She responded as I suspected she would. Her heart rate sped up and her fluids began to increase.

"Don't say such things Carlisle or try to get out of this. Or else," she threatened and then paused, "I will put my hand on your member."

Smiling at her threat, I pleaded teasingly, "You would not."

"Do not try me," she replied her smile clear in her tone.

Even though there was no way she could force me to do anything, there was a fair chance that I might harm her in my rebuttal of whatever she had in mind.

"Fine, I relent," I agreed.

Feeling her smile of triumph was worth giving in to this small thing. She got up and placed herself on top of me. Once there her body tightened.

"What is it?" I asked concerned.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted bashfully.

"Well, what you did before was quite stimulating," I told her.

"How come you did not release then?" she asked clearly puzzled.

"It would have required me moving, and I wanted to stay still for you," I explained.

"Exquisite man," she replied. Then after a beat told me, "move in a way that allows you to find yours and I will attempt to be still."

I wondered, given her reaction earlier, if that was possible, but I appreciated her intention.

Careful not to damage the sheets and to move at a slow human pace I used my toes to push myself against the bed. She kissed and touched me from my neck to my hips. The air between us became heavier as she seemed to attempt to resist her urges.

"It is okay, Esme," I cooed. "I would rather that we enjoy this together."

Nodding as if she had conceded a great defeat, she moved on top of me. I kept my movements steady, which seemed to help her, holding onto my own body's desire for climax until her body shuddered. With a stifled groan I joined her. A few moments later she moved onto the bed next to me.

"You tricked me, you wicked man," she all but slurred.

Once her eyelids were closed, I slowly disentangled myself from her, covered her, changed my clothes, put another pair of union suits into the pile to be burnt, went to the kitchen, cut her some fruit, and brought it back to her room waiting and watching her.

She had a power over me that left me feeling exposed and raw. Mentally I ran through all that she had voiced regarding her surmises about me while with a feather's touch ran my fingers along her skin. From my estimates, what she knew still was not enough for her to guess at my true nature. It was clear to me, though, as I lay watching her recover from our time together that she would eventually have enough pieces that she would no longer be sheltered from the truth.

The next days passed without a repeat of our increased intimacy, although it seemed that our acts had increased our bond. For unexplainable reasons having her scent within me calmed me immensely. We returned to our patterns of reading together and simply enjoying each other's company. I was pleased to see that what we had done did not rule us. That simple fact calmed some of my unspoken fears and gave me hope that we could continue to enjoy one another's company and to be married without being ruled by these strong impulses.

New Year's Eve of course brought with it the gala that the doctor's wives had organized. This year it was focused on raising money for new equipment. If nothing else, it was an annual event that the locals looked forward to. I was immensely proud of Esme. Her accolades and praise did my heart good. At the same time, my awareness that she was my mate seemed to stir within me a primal need to claim her and to bold announce that she was mine, especially at a social event like the gala where other men wanted to use it as an opportunity to touch her casually. The intensity of my emotions, particularly the raging jealousy, put me off balance.

Knowing that I need not be concerned with Esme's devotion to me and that these feelings were common even among humans, about halfway through the evening I went out onto one of the balconies to draw in breaths of crisp air and to calm myself. I was so focused on listening to Esme's conversation and controlling the green-eyed beast within me that I did not notice that another's doctor's wife had joined me until her heat radiating out from her form, through my garments, and touched my skin.

"Good evening, Dr. Cullen," Mrs. Lemich greeted me.

"Mrs. Lemich," I replied with barely a head nod of acknowledgement.

"Are you not enjoying the party?" she asked moving closer and standing beside me also staring out into the evening, so close that barely a centimetre separated our hands.

"The party is lovely," I told her politely. "As usual the association created a wonderful event and it seems that it will result in the hospital getting the equipment it needs."

She nodded as if in agreement and moved herself so that she was leaning over the balcony while her pinkie had moved so that it was touching mine.

I moved my hands into my pockets and my body away from her in order to create some distance. In my years as a doctor many nurses and women had flirted with me, but usually once they were within a foot or so of me their instincts would alert them subconsciously of my nature and they would back off. That did not seem to be the case in this instance. Drawing into myself a deep breath, I categorised the scents that were Mrs. Lemich. Medically she seemed fine, but there was a chemical irregularity that probably indicated an emotional state that I had yet to categorize.

"Your wife seems to have enraptured everyone," Mrs. Lemich told me after a few seconds. Her tone was melancholy, which seemed odd for her words.

"Yes, she is a delight," I replied uncertain of what else to say.

"My husband would agree with you," she stated with a hint of betrayal in her tone.

Pausing longer than usual, I considered what she was trying to say. Was she making a pass at me to upset her husband? Could it be possible that she was trying in some way to get back at Esme? Although I had heard and seen such movements, I had never been in such a situation and did not know the way to handle such a thing. Dr. Lemich had a lot of clout and power. Could he be making a play for my wife? The beast within me reacted immediately desiring to make it clear that Esme was mine. With another deep breath I attempted to calm this part of me.

"There you are," I heard Esme say as the balcony doors opened.

Turning, I smiled at her in relief. She came towards me reaching out her hand, which I took gladly.

"Enjoying yourself Mrs. Lemich?" Esme asked her tone polite but with a razor sharpness that was foreign to me.

Mrs. Lemich stood up straight and looking between us answered with a polite smile, "Naturally, since most of the ideas were yours." Turning to me she smiled at me as if we had shared some secret affair, "Dr. Cullen." Then, she turned and left.

Esme eyed me in a scrutinizing manner.

Aware of the multiple eyes upon us, "Later my dear Miss Platt," I promised her pressing her hand some between mine. "Let us get through the party. You've done a splendid job."

"It was a group effort," she admonished me.

"I was not suggesting otherwise," I agreed with a kiss to her temple.

She dropped her hand and walked through the doors. I must have lingered too long because she said softly under her breath, "Coming?"

Moving towards her, I opened the door and we walked into the ballroom together.

Esme and I resumed our roles. She spoke with the other doctor's wives on the committee, and checked to make sure everything was going smoothly, while I chatted with the industrialists and encouraged them to open their pocketbooks. We danced to two songs and toasted in the new year with everyone else. With Mrs. Lemich's advances it was not difficult to notice Dr. Lemich watching my Esme, while Mrs. Lemich watched her husband and her features deepened into a dark determination. My Miss Platt, in the meantime, did everything in her power to avoid Dr. Lemich. As we travelled home Esme seemed nervous yet exhausted. The combination was not surprising, given the evening's events.

It did not take long for the coach to bring us to our home. After tipping him I led Esme inside. All the while she seemed lost in her own thoughts.

In the midst of removing her outer garments Esme asked me her voice breaking, "Did you and Mrs. Lemich have an enjoyable chat?"

Turning her around bewildered at her statement, I stared intensely into her eyes and told her, "No. It was an uncomfortable and bewildering conversation."

Esme's eyes dilated as if she was stunned or in shock. I had never held a human's eye contact that long or with that potency before. Had I accidently done something to her? Before I could ask her if she was all right she blinked rapidly.

"What were you saying Carlisle?" she asked as if coming out of a daze.

Even if I had never intended to discombobulate my dear Esme, I had to wonder if my nature had some power over humans I had yet to discover. The ability to stun into disorientation seemed like a logical capacity for those that consumed humans. I just had always avoided being around others of my kind when they hunted, and it was not a conversation that came up with any of my friends, although Aro probably would have enjoyed my embarrassment at not knowing such a thing.

Focusing on Esme, I repeated myself in case my prolonged eye contact had affected her memory, "I said that the conversation with Mrs. Lemich was unpleasant, uncomfortable, and bewildering."

Her features instantly morphed into relief before she asked sounding puzzled her features becoming forlorn "What was bewildering about it?"

"Her whole behaviour was strange," I admitted.

"She wants you," Esme said her eyes looking at my shoes.

Shocked at her words, I could find no evidence of it in our interaction except perhaps our proximity.

Noting that Esme was upset by her words, I assured her, "I want no one but you."

After a brief consideration of confessing her to be my mate, I said nothing aware that I was not ready to have that conversation.

She looked back up to me and placed her still gloved hand on my face.

"I still didn't like it," she admitted frowning.

"I did not like when the men at the ball flirted with you and touched you," I confessed.

Her eyes got big and her mouth hung open a little. "I would not have known. You hid it well."

She seemed upset by her words and guessing where her mind had gone I promised her, "I might hide from the world, but not from you."

She smiled sadly appearing relieved and then contemplative before she asked, "You were jealous?"

"Some, but my feelings would be more accurately be described as possessive," I explained to her. "I stepped out to stop myself from ensuring that no man ever touched you again even casually."

Her lips smashed together and she pulled them in. "You do not seem to be the possessive type," she told me while watching me critically.

"As time moves on, since you became Mrs. Cullen, it has increased in strength," I admitted to her.

She seemed uncertain on how to take my confession. She appeared one part pleased and one part concerned. A moment later her features contained ire.

"Then, how am I to feel when the wife of the most influential doctor at the hospital and the chair of the association makes a pass at you?" she accused me.

"Upset?" I guessed having a suspicion that any answer would rile her up.

"I did not like it," she confessed as tears began to roll down her face.

I said nothing simply grabbing her hand.

"A part of me is terrified of losing you, Carlisle. Even the thought of it is like having my insides turned out and burnt slowly. I would not survive," she told me softly as tears streamed down her face and her eyes looked at our intertwined hands.

"Nothing but death could take me away from you, Miss Platt. You have become my everything. We can leave this place and retreat into the wilderness. We can travel. Nothing is more valuable to me than you," I confessed moving one of my hands to her cheek.

She looked up at me startled by the intensity of which I had spoken. For a moment I was concerned that I had done something unintentional again to her.

"You would?" she asked uncertain.

"Without hesitation," I answered assuredly. "So my sweet, tell me what you need. We've built a little life here."

"And you have your lab here," she added thoughtfully.

"And you have work and friends," I tacked on.

"And they already gossip about us, so here we are old news," she said smiling slightly.

I said nothing more waiting for her to continue speaking.

"We shall stay," she decided, "but please be careful, Carlisle. I have heard from the other wives that she is ruthless in ruining a man's career if she doesn't get what she wants."

"I will be careful," I promised, "but I would beg you to do the same. Dr. Lemich's eyes rarely left you."

She looked surprised, but her reaction made it clear that she did not doubt me. "No man holds my heart, Dr. Cullen, but you. No man could offer me the life you do. No man could be a better husband, be as honourable, or treat me as well," she voiced passionately. Then, her features shifted into uncertainty and she continued, "You said months ago that it is not my fault if I am a temptress."

When she said nothing more I confirmed, "I did" uncertain of where her mind had gone.

Looking at me with some trepidation, she asked, "Is that still the case?"

Suddenly aware of her fear, I rushed to assure her, "Of course, my Miss Platt. You cannot help that you are physically attractive any more than I can help how youthful I appear."

Smiling sadly and pursing her lips like the words reminded her of something bitter, she asserted, "Then you have no need to fear."

"I do not fear for your fidelity, Esme," I assured her. "In small and great ways every day you show me your devotion." Pausing briefly, I added, "But men are often greater in strength and cunning. A man like Dr. Lemich is certainly skilled in the art of placing a woman in a compromising position, if he desires her. He does not necessarily have to use physical force to accomplish his goal."

Appearing as if considering my warning, she eventually looked at me and in a tone of agreement added, "I dare say Mrs. Lemich is just as skilled."

Nodding in concurrence of her assessment, I requested, "Promise me that the moment you feel uncomfortable, even if it creates the appearance of being rude, that you will flee. I would rather you be considered a viper or even a disgrace to me than you be truly harmed."

She looked at me seriously and after a few minutes stated, "Agreed as long as you vow the same."

Smiling slightly at watching her assert herself, I then confirmed to her that we were in agreement.

She nodded once as if the matter was settled, and then with a cheeky grin and the brazen vulnerability that had been absent for so long asked me, "Are you going to finish in assisting me Dr. Cullen?" Even after the words had left her mouth the mischievous smile had not.

"Naturally," I replied taking the hand that I still held, kissed it, and then slowly took the glove off.

The relief to have her behave in the manner in which she had in the beginning of our marriage warmed me. I was beyond grateful that the events between us had not permanently removed this aspect of her, as it was something I enjoyed. Even as unpleasant as my feelings had been, what it had brought out of her pleased me.

That night Esme settled into sleep easily, but I found myself restless. As she lay on top of me dreaming, I tried to conceive of every way to keep my promise to Esme without us having to relocate. Certainly turning away women was not new to me, but how to do so while keeping Esme's and my reputation in tact was completely foreign territory. Esme had opened a whole new aspect of the human world that I had beforehand been sequestered from. There was great joy in how she had expanded my world. I simply had lacked the foresight that it would bring its own challenges. For reasons unknown to me I had an increased desire to find answers to my research, as if Mrs. Lemich had made those answers even more urgent.

After her winter break, Esme went back to work and we fell into a comfortable routine once more, and Mrs. Lemich was all but forgotten. Over the next two months I made some progress with my experiments. I discovered that venom's construct was smaller than the material intended to keep a human male's fluids from impregnating females. After my research I had to wonder if it worked for humans either, but that was a separate issue. Esme was disappointed that these rubbers, as they were informally called, would not be our answer, but encouraged me to keep searching. During this time we continued to lie together at night when we were both home and to touch each other. Although I still was not comfortable with her touching my chest, we did occasionally climax in the way that we had over winter break.

By March she was getting more brazen with her hands and they were, on more than one occasion, briefly touching my privates through my undergarments. The first time she had placed her hand there the shock had caused me to still completely. After recovering, I had consented to her action. She had not caused me a release in this way, but it seemed that she appreciated me being vulnerable to her and her warmth there was indescribably pleasurable.

About once a month on one of my days off we went to a play, opera, ballet, or other such event. Being seen publicly with me in these ways seemed to be meaningful to Esme, as she always came home touching me more than usual for the few days afterwards. We also continued with our conversations about current events, reading together, and me giving her massages when she ovulated or menstruated. Generally, we fell into what had become our routine of married life. Each time during a moment of pause I was awed at how incredible our life was and how abundant our life had become. It seemed to only confirm the verse that the Almighty gave good gifts.

Also about mid-March we received a letter from her employer informing her that her contract would be renewed based on the previous year's conditions. Giving the school money as a trustee, but not having to show up to any meetings had worked fine for me, so it was an easy agreement. Disgruntled at the way of things but realising it could not be helped, Esme agreed. Before the end of the month I walked her to work and then visited the head mistress signing the paperwork for Esme to work the following year.

One day in early April wanting to ensure Esme was just as pleased as myself, I enquired with her.

She looked up from her book with a content smile and told me, "Things since the new year have been our best months yet."

Glad to hear that was her opinion, I agreed with her assessment. Later that evening I mused, "It is not bound to last. Dr. and Mrs. Lemich are not likely to simply forget about us or some other things will appear."

Frowning slightly she contemplated my words for a while before answering. "Is that not life? There are ups and there are downs. There are moments of ease and moments of difficulty. I did not expect a problem free life when I married you. I expected that we would weather the storms of life, irrelevant of how big or small, together."

Smiling widely and my eyes full of love for her, I agreed, "Together."

Returning my look she concurred, "Together," before she returned to her book.

This conversation soothed a great many worries that had crept in since discovering she was my mate. Apart from the human problems of the likes of the Lemiches were those regarding my nature or us being of two different creatures. Despite the challenges these issues might bring, she was promising me that we would face them together. We had already done so and come out well, which gave me greater confidence for the future. This confidence and peace often allowed my mind an ease to evaluate myself that had been challenging since the start of our marriage.

After some thought, it became clear to me that I was grateful for the physical aspects of our relationship. It was certainly more than I had ever dreamed. And Esme was true to her word leaving me in her bedroom after any release on her part, allowing me to catalogue and understand what was happening with her body in greater detail. Nevertheless, I found myself restless, wanting more. Clearly touching had been safe, as long as I was capable of moderating my strength. So after having created a clear picture for myself of how to experiment with our limits in this way, I was trying to find the courage to talk to Esme about us touching each other more than we had thus far.

My shift was ending and my mind began once more to be consumed with the upcoming conversation I wanted to have with Esme when I smelled Mrs. Lemich coming from my office. Reversing my steps, I went to the nurses' station.

"I was just about to head home. Did I have any last minute appointments?" I politely asked the nurse on duty.

The nurse looked at the schedule before answering, "No, not that I can see."

"Thank you," I replied and turned to go back to my office uncertain of what I should do.

One part of me wanted to tuck tail and run back home to my misses, but I was not a coward. The truth was that if it were not this hospital, it would be another. Eventually I would need to learn how to reject these types of advances, just as I had other types when I had been single. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I opened the door, standing in the doorway, and appeared surprised.

"Mrs. Lemich, I am just heading home. What can I do for you?" I asked my voice polite, but attempting to convey my dislike making sure the door was wide open.

She shivered as if she sensed danger, but then the chemicals I knew to indicate arousal became present. A few times over the years a woman would become excited by the danger she knew at some level I represented. Men did so with an even greater frequency. It was one thing that I conceded to Aro, which made humans appear to be constructed as prey to our kind. To desire the danger we represented instinctually seemed particularly counterproductive to their survival.

As she seemed frozen in place, I went around the room grabbing my coat and belongings making it clear that I was not going to entertain her.

She seemed to remain in a daze, which was fine by me. Just as I went to leave my office she grabbed my arm. For appearances sake I stopped in my path.

Her voice took on the deep undertones that women such as this used to seduce men and she cooed, "You know, Dr. Cullen, my husband has significant connections and influence. I would be willing to put in a good word for you."

Moving my arm so that she was required to let go, I gazed into her eyes mentally asking her to forget her interest in me and replied trying to ensure my voice remained polite and stern, "Thank you anyway, Mrs. Lemich, I prefer to not have any favours done for me."

Her eyes dilated and her pungent arousal filled the space. It was like using my nature to warn her away had excited her even more. Using my gaze to purposefully dazzle a human to surrender to my will was not something I was even sure was possible, but in Mrs. Lemich's case my action had seemed to create the opposite effect to my intentions.

"Hardworking, diligent, honourable, and faithful," she commented as if I was a commodity, "what a catch," she exclaimed quietly so that no one would hear but me.

Frustrated at my failure to scare her off, I held back a sigh and instead stated curtly, "Good day, Mrs. Lemich," and walked away as quickly as humanly possible.

"Absolutely delectable," she muttered under her breath. "I will enjoy watching him fall."

Suddenly my conversation with Esme seemed urgent, as if it would cleanse me of this woman's fifth. She was clearly one not easily deterred and accustomed to getting what she wanted. Not to mention her contrary reactions to my nature was disconcerting. While travelling home, I wondered what she would do when she knew that her advances would not be returned. I presumed that she had little influence in my job and place in the hospital, but she certainly could make my Esme's life difficult. My greatest hope was that she would tire of her game and find someone else soon.

Esme was at work when I got home. Deciding I needed to expel some of my frustration, I changed clothing and went hunting. The blood helped calm my nerves and gave me focus. When returning home once more I washed and was in my study when Esme could be heard walking down the street. Going downstairs, I opened the door for her and greeted her with a kiss.

When I released her from my lips she looked up at me her face rushed with pleasure and with a smile. "Bad day?" she asked.

"Better," I replied.

Her grin widening, she asked playfully, "Did you feel some need to present your possessiveness to the world, since the door was wide open for the whole neighbourhood?"

"Perhaps," I hedged smiling that she knew me so well.

"Well, the gossip about us had nearly died down. You are probably right that they needed some spice in their dreary lives," she teased.

Beaming at her, I started to chuckle so grateful that she knew how to comfort me and make my world right.

"Let me help you, Esme. I would like to speak to you about something," I let her know as she stepped forward and I closed the door behind her.

In the foyer I helped her remove her coat, gloves, and then hat.

"Yes my husband?" she asked clearly curious.

"Perhaps we should sit?" I pondered wanting her to be comfortable.

"If you wish," she replied eyeing me speculatively.

Once we were seated on the sofa in the sitting room, I took her hands and looked at her in appreciation.

Clearing my throat multiple times, I tried to find the words.

"Well, out with it," she instructed clearly enjoying watching me struggle.

It took me a few more minutes to find the courage to voice my thoughts.

"You remember that I said that the protection often used between married couples to prevent pregnancy would not work for us?" I asked wanting to start in easier territory.

"Yes, I remember," she replied looking slightly sad.

"Well, I was thinking about the things we have done and perhaps something we could try," I told her feeling shy.

"Go on," she said when I had waited too long for her liking.

Feeling vulnerable that she might reject my ideas, but knowing that conversations about these things were critical for us, I required myself to press on.

"I was thinking that we could use our fingers and hands to touch one another more intimately than prior. As long as our hands are clean and there are no abrasions, it seems safe enough," I told her.

Her eyes sparkled in delight. "As in you touching me in more places?" she asked already displaying the signs of arousal.

Glad she liked my idea, I concurred, "Yes, and you touching my private regions without barriers."

Her eyes grew larger and she begun to have that intoxicated look she acquired when particularly enjoying our physical contact.

"And when should we try this?" she asked in that brazen vulnerable tone I had not observed in her for too long.

"Tonight?" I offered wanting to support her reclaiming of this aspect of herself.

She smiled widely. "Let me change and get a small snack."

"Naturally," I agreed pleased that she was taking care of her other needs first.

She stood kissing the crown of my hair and told me, "I love you Dr. Cullen."

"And I you," I told her as she walked out.

I could not decide if I was excited, thrilled, nervous, fearful, or desirous more.

As Esme did her little things, I went to my office. Looking at my cross I could not help but wonder what my Heavenly Father had in store for my future. Just as easily I could imagine Aro laughing at me. Truthfully, I decided that the prevalent emotion about what I had offered for us to do was nervous.

When the sounds of her cleaning her dishes could be heard I went down to the kitchen.

"You can say no, Esme," I told her coming behind her and wrapping her in my arms.

Kissing her neck and shoulders, I was pleased that she had put on a casual dress rather than her nightgown.

She moved her behind outwards pressing it into me while she told me, "My dear Carlisle, please do not doubt that I want this."

Smiling I nibbled gently on her earlobe.

While I teased her she finished up the last of the dishes. Once she turned off the water, she rotated around so that she faced me.

"Did you pick your timing carefully to tell me when you thought you would best be able to handle this?" she asked as she ran her hands through my hair.

Robbed of speech I simply nodded.

"Do you have any hesitancies?" she asked.

"Nervous, as it is new and thus unexplored territory, but overall no," I divulged. "There is a small amount of risk, but from all that I have studied it is safe enough."

She smiled at me as if I had just said the sweetest words.

"Then come," she commanded as she took my hand and led me up the stairs.

Each step felt heavy, as if I was being led to the gallows, and equally as strongly I wanted to take her into my arms and run at my top speed. Instead, I let her determine how quickly we moved. Her setting the pace had seemed to be what was best for us in this regard. In other ways, I led. We each took up that mantle of leadership depending on what the circumstances had needed. But in matters of our intimacy most often she asked, I responded, and then she led. It was not the kind of marriage my father would have approved of, or even many of our neighbours, if the wives' conversations that I heard, while I was home were to go by. But none of that mattered, since unquestionably we would unlikely even be married if it was not for Esme's pressings of me.

I might be her defender, and over our almost two years together as a married couple, there had been moments when she was floundering and I had led her to shore, but in so many other matters it seemed that we worked best when I had faith in Esme's wisdom. It might not be the same as having faith in the Almighty, but it still was a form of faith. Allowing my trust in her and the knowledge that she was my mate to fill me, I worked at releasing my concerns and placing my body in her hands.

* * *

 _A/N: I officially graduate today 10 May! This is my gift to each of you for supporting me through this process. I appreciate each of you!_

 _Thank you again for all your encouragement!_


	21. Trust and Faith

**Chapter 21: Trust and Faith  
**

* * *

When Esme led me into her room she brought me to the end of her bed and then turned in order to close the door. Coming back to me and taking her time, even slower than she would usually, she took off my vest and unbuttoned my shirt. The slightest pressure was felt on my skin from her hands indicating that she had pushed me. I allowed my body to follow her gentle command and sat on the edge of the bed. She then proceeded to take off my shoes and next socks. These tasks completed she put out her hand. Taking it, she moved as if to raise me up.

After following her lead, I placed my hands on her shoulders. Gazing into her eyes, I attempted to convey through look alone how much she meant to me. When she smiled lovingly I indicated for her to turn around by using my hands to turn her shoulders. After complying she lifted her hair this routine between us familiar and her knowing what I wanted to do next without words.

As I undid the buttons to her dress my body was filled with absolute reverence. Here this woman was offering herself to me over and over again without pause, trusting me completely with her body and, even if she did not know it, life. It awed me. As a result my lips lingered on her skin as each patch was exposed and then pressed deeper into her skin than I had ever attempted. Her back to me I pulled the right sleeve down and then the left by millimetres kissing lovingly each new part of her skin that graced my presence. In relief and disappointment she was eventually removed from it. Once the dress came off her arms entirely, it fell to the floor.

Breaking the silence that had enveloped us both, I checked, "Shall I remove more of your garments?"

She waited a minute seeming to collect herself before she answered, "Not for now. I want to offer you my touch first if that is alright with you." Her voice contained that drunken tone she got when she was enjoying my actions.

It pleased me that such a simple thing still affected her to such a degree.

However, even in her state, nervousness came through in her tone, and I suspected she was using her undergarments as a form of comfort. I had used clothing so far in our marriage to decrease my fear and sense of vulnerability; it was only fair for her to want to do so also. Desiring for her to be at ease as much as possible, I turned her around gazing softly at her, and with a smile agreed.

Once more her hands came towards me, but they seemed to hesitate. Instead of moving towards my garments, she wrapped herself around my body. Her ear was too close to where my heart no longer beat, which increased my nervousness. Hopefully the union suit sufficiently hid this part of myself well enough. This was really where the greatest danger lay. To ease my concerns, my mind defaulted to conducting one last final evaluation.

There was some chance that in my state of undress she would discover my lack of a heartbeat. I was not, surprisingly, that worried about the rest of what we were planning. I had experienced being near her enough times when she was coated in her arousal scents that I was not afraid of attacking her, as long as I held my breath. However, there was some risk that she might get some of my fluids within her.

"Esme?" I asked her softly with my arms around her holding her close.

"Yes?" she replied with the barest amount of air.

"No matter what you must keep your mouth closed and do not lick or do anything else that might get my fluids within your body," I warned her. "Do you understand?"

"Make sure I do not consume your fluids in anyway," she repeated back to me in a way that sounded like she was teasing my need to remind her of this. Then, in a serious tone she added, "Yes, I understand."

Relieved I pulled her in slightly closer and began running my hands along her body while kissing her hair. She moaned slightly and sagged some into my body. The action combined with her heat was incredibly arousing and I found myself pressing into her stomach.

After a few moments she pulled back. "How about I take off the top part of your union suit? Start with something we have done before," she suggested.

"The woman is wise," I agreed.

Having me sit, she started with the button of my shirt closest to my neck. I was so nervous of what would come after that by the time she had placed the last shirt button through its eyehole I was completely frozen. This part of my nature I no longer needed to hide from her. So, I locked myself into place, prayed to my Heavenly Father that we would both survive whatever she had in mind, and then trusted. This form of faith had bcome easier to me and for a second I marvelled at how Esme had been teaching me how to become a man of faith. However, she consumed any subsequent thoughts when she placed her hand onto me and leaned into me a small bit.

When the shirt was off me completely she ran her hands over my union suit from my abdomen up to my shoulders slowly and tenderly. Her heat left tingles and physical reminders of wherever she had touched. She rested her hands on the top of my chest for a long while before she brought her fingers to the top button of my union suit.

When each button was undone she would look into my eyes checking that I was still consenting to her proceeding. When a few buttons were open she put her hand onto my skin directly and ran her fingers through my chest hairs. The sensation was so much that I was uncertain if I could manage her touching me more than that. Before I could object, she had removed her hand. Then, she undid a few more buttons and repeated the process.

At the point she would have usually stopped removing my union suit, it became clear to me that taking it off halfway as we usually did was silly in this instance.

"Esme," I said softly as she undid the second to bottom button. "Perhaps you should take it off completely."

She looked down bashfully, but nodded in agreement.

Then tantalizingly slowly centimetre by centimetre she moved her hand passed my belly button down the line of hairs that brought her hand so very close to me. She stopped and inhaled. She searched my eyes asking if I was okay. I gazed adoringly back at her unable to respond. She must have taken my state as a yes, because she soon moved her hand to rest on top of my member still covered by the bottom half of my union suit.

My worries had deflated it, but I was glad, since I was uncertain how she would respond. I had more than once heard nurses talk about men's privates in a way that made it sound as if it scared them, and I did not want Esme to be afraid of me in any way. However, her touch was incredibly stimulating, and thus hardened it slightly, as my nerves were still strong. Eventually, whatever she needed seemed satisfied and she resumed her removal of my clothing. Once the last button before my pants was undone, I stood so that she might remove my pants, assuming she wanted to do so in the manner we usually did.

She placed her hands along my hips and moved her hands towards the front of my pants. She undid the fastenings at a slower speed than prior, like she needed the time to collect herself for what would come next. When her task was complete the pants slid off my legs collecting at my ankles onto the floor. Then, button by button she undid the rest of the union suit. Assisting me coming out the sleeves, she moved the fabric down and off my body. It then too rested at my ankle. Keeping her eyes cast downwards, she moved so that she was in front of me sitting on the floor. Stopping her movements, she appeared to be waiting for me. Figuring out what she most likely wanted, I lifted my left foot allowing her to take me out of that side completely. Then we repeated the action on the right side. Her behaviour worried me slightly, so as soon as the garment was no longer on my body I turned around at a marginally quickly human speed, moved myself onto the bed, and lay down with my back towards her hoping something familiar would assuage any concerns she might have.

Esme came and placed herself on top of me and her body felt much more relaxed than it had looked minutes earlier. For a while she did not move at all, but then out of the blue she began kissing and licking my skin. Shortly after, as we had done numerous times before, she rubbed herself along me, except that with no fabric on me and only her undergarments on her it was even more enticing. While doing this, she continued to kiss and lick me, and then began also running her teeth along parts of my back and arms. Involuntarily my body started moving, desiring friction in expectation of what would come next. Each time it did this I would will it into stillness once more wanting to release in the manner we had agreed.

An immeasurable amount of time passed when I heard Esme breathe into my ear, "Turn over my love."

Waiting for her to get off me, I gave myself one last chance to change my mind.

Then moving onto my back, she came and arranged herself so that her head was on my arm. She used her left hand to play with the hairs on my chest slowly travelling her hand downward. It was one part tantalizing, one part soothing, and two parts nerve-wrecking. It took immense self-control to do nothing and wait for her. Repeatedly I told myself that perhaps this was her way of calming her nerves.

Almost an hour had passed when she propped herself up slightly and asked with a mischievous glint in her eye, "Are you cold everywhere?"

Swallowing I eyed her carefully. "What are you asking, Mrs. Cullen?" I played along.

"If you are as cold down there," she stated while her eyes travelled to my torso, "as you are everywhere else."

"I suspect so," I admitted with a gulp unable to hide my nerves.

"May I inspect?" she asked with a sly smile.

"And how would you perform this inspection?" I spluttered out shocked at how her brazenness was manifesting, while also feeling incredibly amazed by her.

"By touch, of course," she told me grinning wickedly.

"Esme," I groaned unsure if I hated or appreciated her teasing.

Suddenly her features shifted and she appeared more serious.

"Say no, if you want me to stop, Carlisle. I want to do this. I am your wife after all. But you can always say no. Is that not what you tell me?"

I groaned louder, but said nothing, and tried to figure out for one last time if I was really ready for such a thing. Certainly her hand on me would hurt neither of us. I had already determined that. For my own peace of mind once more I imagined, given my experiments, the chance of her becoming infected from my fluid. I had not yet tested anything other than the venom from my mouth. I had already warned her of that. I mentally reviewed how her hands looked and if she had any open wound of any kind on them.

Despite my confidence that she did not, I asked anyway. "Please, for my sanity, let me see your hands."

She looked at me confused and lifted them from my abdomen where they had been resting, and put them in front of me slowly turning them around. "Do they pass?"

I eyed them closely finding nothing of concern. "Still, be careful please?" I begged.

"You have no need to worry, Carlisle. I will be careful, and will not harm you," she reassured me.

She was wrong in her assumption, but I did not have the heart to tell her so.

Once more, she placed her hands on my abdomen. The concerns that I had prior that she would discover my unbeating heart or my lack of blood seemed silly in light of what we were going to do next. She knew in some way that I was fundamentally different from her, even if she had not guessed what I might be. All my hiding from her, my precautions to ensure that she did not discover my inhumanity seemed silly at this juncture as she slowly and carefully moved her hands lower and lower.

At less than an inch away she looked over to me and asked, "May I?"

It took me a moment, but I eventually responded, "Yes, you may," and looked at her in adoration.

It had already hardened in response to her proximity, but her touch caused it to do so even more and it began to twitch slightly. She did nothing more than placed her hand on top. After a few minutes, she moved so that her head was on my belly button but kept her hand where it had been. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the moment. Esme, my wife, was touching me in a way that before our one-year anniversary I would have vehemently argued was impossible, but yet here we were. After a while she moved her hand some down the length to its root and then to the tip exploring.

Something primal within me strutted. This woman, irrelevant of her species, my inner beast wanted to claim and proclaim. Everything within me wanted to take her and crush her to my chest, but I did not. My mind could not help imagine doing more, even when I tried to turn it off. In the end, my only recourse to the mental bombardment was to focus on the moment. My entire attention became singularly focused on Esme, her hand, her motion, where her body was, ensuring she was safe. It was a dangerous game we were agreeing to play, no matter how much I tried to control for the risks.

As the sensations of her touch overwhelmed me, it became impossible to do anything but admit that I wanted her in my life for as long as I was on the earth. And even though I should have been upset at the prospect or mentally chastising my thoughts, everything within me was gleeful and triumphant. Perhaps I should have worried that the thought of her being the same species as me aroused me to the point of release, but in the bliss that arrived shortly afterwards I could not find it in myself to do anything but embrace this selfish craving and become more determined to find a way to keep her in my life as long as we both should live.

True to her word, Esme got off me and washed her hands immediately. She also brought back a rag to clean me.

"Place that next to my hamper, please Esme," I requested once she was done, so that it might be burnt the next day while she was at work.

During the time she was gone, I turned over. When she had finished, she turned off the lights, came and half lay on top of me.

Over an hour later she was still awake and asked me her voice shaking, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Turning my head, I asked, "Was my enjoyment not evident?"

She frowned some as if in thought. "I cannot be certain that a release means that you were pleased."

Realizing the truth in her words, I vowed, "It was incredible, Esme. It seems like the impossible has become true."

She smiled then appearing proud.

After some time went by I quietly asked, "Would you wish for me to touch you?"

She gulped and sputtered before she finally said, "Yes, I believe that I would enjoy that."

"Another time, then. Just let me know when you are ready," I requested.

"Uh-huh," she mumbled seemingly lost in her mind.

An hour later and she still was awake I whispered, "Did touching me in this way please you?"

Only slightly groggy she answered, "It was incredible. I felt like a goddess and simultaneously humbled at your courage and vulnerability."

"I am glad," I replied completely understanding what she was attempting to articulate, as I often felt the same in reaction to her.

More time passed and I debated whether to alter the topic.

Eventually, noting she was still awake, I told her, "I do not want to take away from tonight, but I do want to tell you that Mrs. Lemich came to my office at the end of my shift and suggested that a relationship with her would help my career."

Esme's face turned red and if possible it looked like steam would come out of her ears.

Before she could even say anything I added, "Naturally, I turned her down and left my office immediately. And even though her offer means nothing to me, so not even worth mentioning, my refusal might cause us problems."

She ground her teeth together creating a horrendous sound.

This time I remained silent allowing her space to think and speak if she wished.

Eventually, as if she could no longer contain herself her muttered under her breath, "That arrogant, self-conceited, self-absorbed, witch of a woman. How dare she."

By the look in her eye it was as if Esme wanted to go find Mrs. Lemich and rip her head off. Even though the image was amusing I kept it to myself, wise enough to know such chuckling would only incite Esme more.

"Please Esme," I cooed. "She means less than nothing to me. I only want you."

Calming some, Esme replied, "That does not excuse her behaviour."

"Of course not," I agreed, "but we cannot control her behaviour. I can only control my responses."

"It will be a bear to work with her now," she grumbled.

"If she becomes truly bothersome to us, then we can always leave," I reminded her.

"I knew she wanted you at the New Years party," she countered.

"And you were correct," I agreed, "but it takes two. She cannot force me to do anything."

After some time had passed Esme wondered, "Could she make it difficult for you to get a new posting?"

"Nearby, perhaps," I allowed, "but we could go more west, if you were agreeable to frontier life. There are always solutions, Esme. Please do not be concerned about her."

A few minutes later she agreed, "I will not worry about her threat, but I retain the right to be upset about her making a pass at my husband."

Trying to hold in my smile, I relented, "Fair enough."

Not long after she finally fell asleep and I revelled at what we had accomplished.

In the morning, after Esme had removed herself to bathe and I had taken in my first breath, my immediate reaction had been to roar. The moment the sensation rose up in me I stifled the inflection and tried to discern what had caused such a reaction. After much thought, it seemed that the scent of her arousal mixed with the evidence of mine drove me towards an animalistic madness.

When Esme joined me in my office, following her finishing her morning routine, I divulged, "I do not think we should repeat that Esme."

She blinked at me repeatedly and looked like she might begin tearing. A couple minutes later after collecting herself she stated sadly, "But I thought you enjoyed yourself."

Coming in front of where she had sat, I squatted and put her hands in mine. "It is not that at all. Rather, my experiment after you left to bathe caused a primal reaction in me that I do not wish to encounter again."

She eyed me speculatively before speaking softly, "Of course, if you say no, I will respect that, just as you respect my no, but I would not want us to end this level of intimacy. Fear of your responses is something I can empathise with, as often what I desire to do or imagine is unladylike. However, have we not faced similar things before? Each time were we not simply careful and have made it through? Have faith in us, my husband," she concluded pleading with her tone and her eyes.

Considering her words carefully, I could find no argument against them. At the same time, I was unwilling to completely discard the terror my reaction caused in me.

So, instead I insisted, "If it does not get better in a few months, then we might have to reconsider."

She looked disappointed, but agreed with my terms.

It was a while later when we were both engrossed in our readings that my curiosity won and I asked her, "Wish to share your unladylike desires or images?"

She nearly dropped her book and spluttered. She had a look somewhere between a chagrin and irate. It took her many minutes to collect herself.

When she spoke there was a challenging tone, "And would you repay me in turn?"

My jaw dropped and found myself mortified.

"Then, you have my answer," she stated in a dignified huff and returned to her reading.

She had been right. Thus, I found myself considering what I might be willing to share, in order to learn what she had hinted at.

As the weeks passed, Esme's ministrations and my subsequent releases seemed to open up a whole new element in our relationship. We touched just as frequently, but we both became aroused more easily as if the touches reminded our bodies of where things could lead and called us towards that end. Her sleeping on my back or next to me continued. Esme purchased small towels that she deemed as disposable. We used them to remove my fluids from myself and if any splattered on her. Then, we would burn them. Each time my fluids were released I had to be especially careful to not breathe, and mind myself when conducting my experiments of the odours afterwards. True to Esme's beliefs, after a few times my reactions to the scents were more manageable.

Then, one time when we were in the sitting room reading while I massaged her leg when I commented, "You seemed quite possessive of me when I mentioned Mrs. Lemich's offer."

"No more than you are of me," she countered.

Considering her words, I found myself in agreement.

"What do you think that means?" I wondered out loud curious of her thoughts on the matter.

She looked up briefly and confirmed, "That we are both possessive?"

"Yes," I concurred and became lost in my thoughts regarding the meaning behind this.

It was a while later when she finally spoke once more, "It would also seem to mean that we are tightly bonded to one other, afraid to lose the other, and territorial."

My mind might work faster than hers, but it still took me a while before I replied by asking, "Do you think that is a good thing?"

She scrunched up her face and it took a while before she stated, "I think it is neither good or bad. It just is. However, it does seem like we are more possessive of each other than most couples. Certainly I have observed my friends wanting their husband's time and attention, as well as disagreeing with the idea of them being sexual intimate with another woman. Nevertheless, it does seem like my feelings for you and reactions are more intense both in comparison to my friends and for my own nature."

It was instantly apparent that she was describing how vampires feel and react to their mates. Her ability to behave in such a way while human was astounding. My first thought was that I could not wait to tell Aro, but that was immediately followed with the danger of doing so presently. Once she was turned, then we could discuss a trip to Italy. Next, my own reaction to Mrs. Lemich at New Years came to mind. In a manner, after my encounter with her I had been akin to a dog pissing on an object to demonstrate my territory. Esme had, of course, immediately commented on how I had done such a thing. It was no way to treat her from my beliefs of what it meant to be a gentleman, yet doing so had calmed the beast part of me straight away.

Aware of the risk, but unwilling to leave Esme in the dark anymore, I looked over to her and said, "You know how the virus I carry prohibits me from procreating?"

She looked bewildered like my words made no sense. Nevertheless, she confirmed, "Yes."

"When I lived with a community of others with the virus those that were bonded as we exhibit feel like your describing and exhibit behaviours of possessiveness," I told her.

Her eyes got wide, "Have I caught your virus then?"

Putting my hand on her knee, I attempted to calm her worry, "No, but it seems that even though you do not have the virus you are responding to me in our bond in a similar way to what I observed."

She scrunched her face in thought, and eventually asked, "What does that mean, Carlisle?"

Taking in a deep breath, I confessed, "That your feelings have pulled you more into my world and away from other humans than we could have predicted."

She looked at me critically, and then after a while stated, "This bothers you."

Considering her assertion critically, I finally replied, "A little, but mostly I am in awe, feel blessed, and scared to lose you."

"You still have not shared your feelings on these matters," she pointed out.

Smiling in appreciation of her quick mind, I shared, "It is unsettling to me, as I do not like things that I cannot predict, as you know. At the same time, I find myself wondering how I could have doubted the hand of God in our lives. Thus, I feel slightly chastised for my lack of faith."

She pursed her lips and asked, "How so?"

"A priest I heard give a homily stated that faith was trusting in things unseen. At each step between us, I have wanted facts in which to base my decisions and feel confident with my choice. If I had trusted your wisdom and had more faith in God's divine plan, then I would not have taken you through this long formidable journey of discovery based on my fears."

Her sad smile was in contrast to her glimmering eyes as she stated, "Perhaps those things are true, my dear Dr. Cullen. However, it is just as equally true that given your father's teachings, you are sceptical and even a touch resistant to blind faith." Then with a teasing look she added, "So, God has given you a patient and loving wife who helps prod you in the direction you need to go."

Smiling broadly back to her, I agreed, "You are a blessing for sure."

Her features turned more serious as she added, "I cannot see anything wrong with your cautious approach to faith. My only encouragement, as you wife, would be to continue trusting your heart. All mind and no heart creates monsters as much as all heart and no mind. I suspect we need both, especially as God has given us both."

Smiling once more, I gushed, "As usual the woman is wise."

We feel into a silence and I began to consider her suggestion that I was becoming a man of faith, just of a different sort to my father. Concurrently, I was considering the ramifications of our bond and her conclusions.

After some time she began to scrutinise me intensely and then blurted out, "Have you come to some sort of conclusion, which you are not sharing nor asked for my input?"

Rubbing my hand up and down her thigh, I told her, "Quite the contrary. In fact, I have come to agree with your request that I give you my virus."

She looked surprised and pleased. After collecting herself she wondered, "Do you have a timeframe in mind?"

"After I have figured out how to do so without it resulting in your death," I stated tersely. "However, I am beginning to consider the possibility that in the future, until we are both infected, we might need to retreat from civilization." Pausing meaningfully, I then added, "At least with others that are infected, they told stories of needing to sequester themselves from everyone else for a while, so that their possessiveness would not be exhibited in a violent way."

She pursed her lips.

Twenty minutes went by before she asked, "Is it possible that the Lemiches are bringing this quality out in us?"

It was like her words created an epiphany that put all the puzzle pieces together. Her mind was incredible.

"Yes, I suspect you are right," I told her with a smile. "Your mind is a glorious thing. I am convinced that it is the most attractive part of you."

She smiled mischievously before asking, "More than my ankles?" as she lifted her nightgown to display them.

Gulping, I answered, "Yes."

"More than my calves?" she asked pulling up the garment a little more.

My mouth opened a little and I replied softly, "Yes."

"More than my thighs?" she pressed while bringing her garment up so that her privates were beginning to be seen.

"Uh-huh," was all I managed.

"More than my arms?" she questioned while taking off her robe.

Becoming a little apprehensive of her teasing, I agreed by nodding.

"More than my neck or breasts?" she asked while taking her arms out of the straps and bringing the garment down so that more than half of her mounds were displayed.

Simply nodding I had otherwise frozen and was holding my breath. Even though this kind of playfulness was new, I was loathed to stop her and possibly cause her to hide her brazen nature once more.

Then, she got up and straddled me with each leg on the outside of mine while the heat from her core pierced through my garments and aroused me. Next, she took the back of my head and brought it towards her until we were kissing. Following, she began moving herself back and forth over me. When she needed breath she added kissing and sucking on my neck and when she was closer to her release moved our bodies so that my mouth was on her mounds. When I felt her body begin to tire my hands went to her hips and helped her continue her motion. It did not take long after that for us both to find our release.

Carrying her to bed, once settled she wrapped herself around me. In the morning when she awoke she smiled at me, said, "Thank you my husband. We should repeat that," and then proceeded to get out of bed.

As usual I stayed and conducted my evaluations. It was only a few minutes later after she had relieved her bladder that I heard her call me.

Concerned, as she had never done do previously, I moved to the washing room, took in a deep breath as a precaution, and knocked.

"Come in," she stated tersely.

When I opened the door she was stark naked.

"I wanted you to see them, so you do not think I am hiding things," she said in a tone that hinted at worry and apprehension.

Initially confused, it only took me a moment to notice the bruising on her hips where I had held her.

Frowning, I remembered her words from the last time she had become bruised.

Working to remain calm, I asked, "Are you in pain?"

She looked weary, but answered, "Not at all."

Walking over to her, I kissed her lips, squatted adding kisses to her bruises, examined them closely concluding that there was no organ damage, returned to standing, and said, "I am glad. Thank you for letting me know. I will endeavour to be more gentle the next time we touch each other in a similar manner."

She smiled widely, kissed me passionately, and replied, "A very good idea, my husband. Now shoo, I need to bathe."

"As you wish," I told her with a little bow.

Leaving the room with mental chastisements strong in my mind, I then suddenly realised that she had been right. We were bound to have these small missteps. She had surprised me and was not injured. Even though I disliked it, in reality the lack of significant harm to her was a manifestation of my love. She trusted me. I trusted her. Together we were leaning into the unknown. Next time there would be no bruises. With that vow I returned to my scent evaluations.

Over the next months we learned to pleasure the other through touch, although she had yet to permit me to explore her nether regions with my fingers. Many a times when Esme lay curled up beside me us both basking in our post-orgasmic bliss I was pressed to imagine anything more sublime. A few times after Esme had left the room and while taking in the air in order to process it, I wondered when she was going to discover that my heart did not beat and ask me about it.

Surprisingly, she never asked to discuss her acquiring the virus, seeming to trust in my promises. Additionally, as we came into the summer and she no longer had work my laboratory investigations all but ended. It was a pleasant gift to discover that she was much more enjoyable company than she had been the past two summers. It was if, finally, married life had come to agree with her. She was no longer grieving the loss of her father or struggling to adjust to what being Mrs. Cullen meant socially or personally.

Throughout our marriage she had regularly corresponded by post with her family, especially her mother, and her friends. Our phone bills told me that she regularly conversed with Dorothy when I was at work, which pleased me. I suspected her mother corresponding more along with her mother's reports of being in higher spirits than Esme had hoped for also aided in boosting her mood. It did not surprise me that Esme feeling more content and satisfied, thereby less worried, over her mother helped her semblance.

Even though the summer was as close to ideal as we had ever achieved, I found myself disappointed. Thus, about mid summer I found the courage to confront her during one of our times of being in the sitting room reading.

"Esme, a while back you stated that you would share a desire of yours if I share one of mine. Is that still the case?"

She looked up at me curious, but hesitant.

When she said nothing more, I continued, "Whether you share with me or not, I need to confess that my mind continues to imagine me touching you as intimately as you have me. You said you would let me know when you were ready and months have passed. I am confused as to why you have not yet granted me permission. Is there a worry keeping you back?"

Her reaction was intense embarrassment.

Disliking how my question had caused her discomfort, I quickly assuaged her, "We do not need to speak on the subject. I was simply concerned and hoping we could share more of what we imagine. My belief was that perhaps through these discussions we could find even more activities that would be safe to do to one another."

My suggestions seemed to have added to her embarrassment, but also peaked her interest. When she had calmed herself I watched as she steadied herself and drew her posture up to a firm sitting position like she had done in our beginnings when she was finding courage.

"Speaking of this seems absolutely grievous," she admitted her eyes watching me carefully.

Considering that I countered, "We are husband and wife. The scriptures state that in this union two shall become one flesh. How else is that to take place without conversation, even regarding topics that would be prohibited with anyone else?"

She contemplated my words before replying, "Maybe some things are never to be spoken?"

Enjoying our debate I rejoined, "As a doctor many things a person never says are required to be spoken about in order to become well. Would that not be the same here? We are discussing the health of an aspect of our marriage."

She looked equally irritated at my argument and pleased at debating such a topic.

"Although unconventional, we seemed to have found a regular way of expressing that aspect of marriage," she retorted.

"True," I had to agree. It was certainly greatly more than I could have asked to imagine.

Sagging a little, her gaze turned to her hands rather than me and she enquired, "Are you unsatisfied?"

Surprised she would think such a thing, I retorted probably too strongly, "Of course not, Esme."

Looking up at me once more she uttered gently, "Then why do you want to know?"

A little flustered myself, I eventually admitted, "I like having your hand on me in that manner. It gives me a sense of being connected to you that I enjoy. I had assumed that with time you would want to experience the same in your own way. Yet, you have not. It has been long enough that I have begun to worry and be concerned. Also, I would be remiss to not add that I had been looking forward to touching you in this way. But I do not want my desires to dictate what you wish to share with your body."

Her mouth opened a little and she stuttered, "I am denying you?"

"I did not say that," I retorted.

At a whisper she repeated her words like she had not heard me and that the idea had never passed her mind. She seemed to be in a stupor, so I chose to give her space and went back to my reading. Eventually I felt her raise her eyes to me.

"I had not considered that you might wish to touch me in this way," she admitted softly.

Then, it was my turn to be surprised. When I found my voice, it was dripping with astonishment, "Why would I not want to have the honour of touching such an intimate part of you, of assisting you finding release by my own hand? Had you not experienced images of touching me before you acted upon it?"

She looked incredibly uncomfortable when she muttered, "Well, when you put it that way."

Collecting myself, I reminded her, "Please my Miss Platt do not act for my sake, but for your own. Simply know that I would be honoured whenever you would feel comfortable."

Considering this she confessed, "I might never be comfortable."

Slightly surprised by her answer, I tried to find words that would allow me to understand without upsetting her. Finally I chose to ask, "Can you tell me why?"

After she took in a deep breath she admitted, "I suspect it will be one of those things in which you will passionately disagree."

"Do you fear my passion?" I wondered.

Smiling slightly she replied, "No, but I felt the need to warn you."

"Duly noted," I confirmed excited to hear her thoughts on this manner. Then, when she did not speak, I added, "I vowed to keep you from harm and that the violence in which I am capable would not be used against you. I hope you know that irrelevant of your words, the worst that would happen is me walking away for a time."

She nodded slightly, and then stiffening herself once more, she seemed to become prepared for what she was about to do.

"In my mind this is clear, but it does not stop years of education on proper decorum," she confessed at a whisper.

Knowing the truth of her sentiment in my own way, I put my hand on her leg below her knee in an attempt to comfort her.

Eventually she found her voice and informed me, "I was taught that my duty was to bring pleasure to my husband."

Considering what she said and also what she implied, I pointed out, "But when we are together you find your own release."

She looked down flustered and at a whisper uttered, "Those come from my own effort or as a side product of your pleasure. To request you to do something solely for my pleasure seems taboo or something, like it is a dirty thing that only loose women would do."

Frowning, I considered her era's beliefs and what she had already told me about her education regarding her role as a wife. Her words seemed to match what she had been told. More importantly, I had no idea of how to contradict such messages.

Eventually I asked, "Would it help if I told you why I disagree?"

Oddly she looked tired like she had run a marathon. It took a while, but eventually she admitted, "I am curious."

Taking that as a sign to proceed, I told her, "First, I believe that all parts of what God has created is meant for good. Each animal helps keep the balance of our earth and it is a cycle in which we all depend. This is true of the human body. Each part works in harmony with the others. I cannot imagine a creator that made good things giving women the ability to enjoy pleasure from their husbands only to make it a sin."

She looked at me carefully like my words were distrustful. Then curtly, making it clear that the conversation was over, she informed me, "I shall consider it."

"Thank you, my wife," I replied knowing my words had gotten to her and sensing that pushing her more would not be prudent.

A few days later as we sat reading, she asked me, "Are the neighbours still wagging their tongues about us?"

Putting down my book, I looked at her wondering what had brought on such a question. Nothing in her countenance offered me a satisfactory indictation, so I decided to indulge whatever had brought this on, even though sharing such a thing seemed like a betrayal of confidences.

After reviewing my memory, I answered, "Almost never, except for the rare busy body who speaks of our odd ways or expresses fake concern about your lack of a pregnancy."

Almost absent minded, she stated, "Well, that is good."

She returned to her book like she had never spoken, but her question with her lack of explanation for requesting such information had rattled my brain, so I eventually interrupted her and asked, "Why did you ask?"

She paused before answering, "You had said that eventually people move on and the gossip stops. It is the first summer where I do not feel everyone watching me the moment I walk out of the door. I had assumed it had nearly ended, but thought to gain confirmation."

Nodding in appreciation of her candour, I went back to read, but then my mind kept ruminating over her words.

Almost an hour later I asked her, "Do you like it here?"

Her initial reaction was to frown and to appear sad. Then her features more resembled peace.

She looked up at me and with a slight smile told me, "It was a difficult adjustment at first. City living is nothing like farm life or being at college. Teaching here is nothing like it was to teach in the schoolhouse. The wives committee has brought friendly faces and unexpected challenges. I do not possess here the close friendships of home or school. Being a doctor's wife and yours especially places me apart. Our lack of children tells other women that there is something wrong with me and they are loathed to get too close to me in case they catch it. The women here are more guarded and spiteful than I am accustomed. So, in all I would say that it is not my favourite place." Pausing as if for emphasis, she then said, "Nevertheless, it is an easy burden to bear when I consider that it is the cost of being your wife. It is only a place, Carlisle. You made it clear from the beginning that your life prohibited you from settling down permanent roots. I chose you. You are my home. Location matters little in contrast to the marriage we have. Not only do I have no complaints regarding the relationship we have formed, I am grateful beyond belief."

Hearing the earnestness of her speech, I replied simply, "I wish being my wife did not request you to give up so much. Nonetheless, I am pleased to hear that the burdens of this city pales in comparison to your joy."

She smiled broadly and reminded me, "No place is ideal. No situation lacks challenge. It is the nature of life for God to test us."

Smiling back, I could do nothing but agree. In fact, it dawned on me that the lack of challenges was a portion of what had led to my melancholy before her appearance in my life. God's creatures were designed to strive and grow from the trees to the ants to the mountain lion. It then dawned on me how vampire nature made having the elements required for striving more difficult than human nature. In a way their fragility and short lives offered them more opportunities to test themselves and to find purpose than ours.

Suddenly, like a flash, it then came to me that these elements also made having faith harder for me than them. There was so little in life before Esme, except for resisting blood, that could stretch me in such a way that requested I step into the unknown. Maybe this was, in part, what cause most of my kind to scoff at the idea of God and faith. Instead, they saw themselves in a semi-god-like state. Then like a lamp being blown out, I found peace with my struggles with faith. The Almighty had been good enough to not only give me this life, so that I might find Esme, but also bring her into my life in such a way that allowed me to struggle and need to have faith. It was nearly as miraculous as her being my mate. For days afterwards I found myself in awe and swimming in gratitude.

After that conversation many weeks passed. We were nearing the end of summer when we were walking to an outdoor music performance and Esme asked, "Did you mean what you said?"

Momentarily confused I asked, "On what topic?"

With barely a breath she said, "Women's pleasure."

Without pause I answered, "Absolutely." When she said nothing more, I added, "Watching you enjoy yourself, the expressions you make, how you respond is absolute bliss. Selfishly I want more."

We nodded at our neighbours who had also come out. Venturing a little closer to the trees than we usually did, we both seemed to want to sit apart from others.

When we were settled Esme divulged her words barely making themselves to my ears, "I feel the same way, except in reverse. Being with you in this way and watching you respond to what I do is immensely intense. A part of me wants to do it every day all day long, but I mind your words about the danger of impulses."

For a while neither of us said anything. I enjoyed having her near me, how she revelled in my natural coolness in a vain attempt to keep her temperature down, her warmth and scent surrounding me, all while listening to a beautiful orchestra. These picnics had quickly become my favourite part of summer.

Out of the blue Esme stated, "Dr. and Mrs. Lemich have been travelling all summer, something to do about a European tour. No doubt they both have found love interests in which to entertain themselves all the while pretending to the other that they are faithful."

Scowling I asked, "Do you really believe such gossip?"

She frowned and stated, "I was being malicious for my own reasons and repeated no gossip."

"Ah," I allowed. "Well, in that case, the nurses' gossip and your verbal denigrations are the same."

Her frown deepened. "I apologise, Carlisle. I did not intend to be vicious. I am still appalled at their behaviour and glad to have them gone. Forgive me."

"Easily," I replied with a smile. Then, leaning into her ear I whispered, "I suspect you are not too far off, but you did not hear that from me."

Covering her mouth to hide her giggles, she swatted my chest gently like she was trying to admonish me.

We spoke about light things for the rest of the evening and enjoyed the music. It was incredible how much having Esme with me changed my satisfaction after such events.

The sun had set, so Esme hung on my arm while I carried the picnic basket back home.

A few blocks from the house she leaned into me and whispered, "I have imagined you touching me in my nether regions so many times since our discussion that I feel as if I might combust. Nevertheless, if you are certain that you too will enjoy this deed, then let us try, but I am still not certain I can get comfortable with such an act."

Leaning over and kissing her crown, I beamed with excitement and proclaimed quietly, "I am certain."

"Heal, my dear doctor," she teased me.

It was at her words that I realised how I had sped up my steps. Chuckling at my eagerness, I slowed down and confessed, "Perhaps I am too eager?"

She smiled delighted and after a moment agreed, "One of us should be."

"You are not being led to the gallows," I pointed out.

Nodding like she agreed, she asked, "How did you feel before the first time?"

Realising how similar her reactions were to mine, I told her, "Apprehensive and excited, and you certainly remember my reaction afterwards, but after a few times almost no concerns remained. Surprisingly, it has become something I look forward to as much as the other things we do."

Pressing her hand deeper into my arm she said nothing more, but a small smile entered her face.

After we were enclosed into our entryway, Esme took the basket to the kitchen. I waited for her at the bottom of the stairs.

When she came I put out my hand and told her, "Trust that I will care for you."

"Till the end of our days?" she whispered.

"Till the sun expires," I voiced softly back.

Fortunately, it seemed that she had not heard my reply, and said nothing more as I led her up the stairs.

* * *

 _A/N: On short notice I got requested to cover lecturing a class for a professor at the Uni where I just graduated, but still have no long term employment. Would you believe that the lecturing position pays a little less than $12 an hour. So, much for the benefits of a PhD. :-(  
_

 _Thank you to everyone who has left a note and encouraged me to keep writing! I appreciate each of you!_


	22. Threats to Peace

**Chapter 22: Threats to Peace**

* * *

"Bedroom preference?" I asked Esme in a soft tender tone.

"Yours please," she requested her nervousness clear.

It was not what I expected, but I acquiesced easily wanting to make her as comfortable as possible.

In my room I slowly and methodically undressed her until her undergarments in the manner in which had become our custom, and then had her undress me to my union suit hoping starting with these similar exchanges would calm her nerves.

Appearing willing to continue, I asked her, "Lights on or off?"

"They matter not to you?" she replied her tone implying that she was simply confirming what she already knew. Perhaps it was her way to give herself more time to ensure she wished to proceed.

"No matter to me," I told her, indirectly hinting at her ability to refuse my advances, even at this juncture.

After a moment more she requested, "Off please," while her tone held no hints of wanting to stop.

Turning the side lamps off, I came back to her and slowly with lots of kisses and attention to her skin removed her brassiere. Then, even more slowly and carefully I undid her stockings and belt. Even these motions had become more familiar and I was able to take breaths as she became aroused, I made sure my actions conveyed my worship of her and my gratitude for her to trust me. When she was completely uncovered I took her hand and slowly led her to the bed. Once she was prone on her back, I took the covers, which I had turned down for her, and covered her with them.

Laying next to her under the fabric, I took my hand and gently moved it along her skin to everywhere I could reach leaving her mounds alone and softly asked leaning into her ear, "How are you my dear Miss Platt?"

"Apprehensive," she whispered.

"How can I comfort you?" I asked.

It took her a few minutes before she said, "What you are doing and kiss me."

"As the lady instructs," I uttered back to her playfully before kissing her.

Each time she needed to breathe I moved to kiss her neck, shoulders, collarbone, and then lower to the top of her mounds. As the time passed she relaxed. Fortunately, the explorations that had become regular between us seemed to comfort her. When she was in her blissful intoxicated state that had become more regular between us, I held my breath and began moving my hand past her inner thigh brushing against her outer lips. Then, when my hand was on her stomach I moved it lower covering her hair with my fingers.

Each time my hand moved into these new places she tensed, but her eyes remained closed. As soon as her body responded in uncertainty, I would move my fingers to a place on her body that was more familiar to her until she was completely relaxed again. As these actions continued I would linger on these new spaces allowing the sensations to penetrate my consciousness and her to adjust to my presence. It took her over an hour before I could brush against these new spaces and her muscles not contract. I took her acceptance of my touch as her agreement for me to continue. Taking even more time, I kissed all manner of her from her forehead down to her waist all the while progressing my hands in slow gentle movements.

A while later I used my hand to encourage her legs to open up for me. She stilled for a few seconds, but then moved them in the direction my hands had requested. Allowing her to adjust to this new vulnerability I kept my hands and kisses to her thighs or calves. Then, I would come back and kiss her top half. When her legs relaxed into the bed and she seemed to become lost to her sensations I moved a finger past the outer lips and into her folds. Her guttural sound was something between a whimper and a moan, and she tensed slightly. Like before I simply removed my fingers and placed them on other more familiar areas. When she would be completely loose once more, I would slowly and in a roundabout way make my way back into her folds. More than an hour passed before when I entered this intimate space nothing in her body indicated a request to stop or even a concern. Taking my time, I explored every centimetre with my right index finger knowing I had never experienced anything so reverent.

Eventually Esme began moving her body in the manner she had the first time she had released. My knowledge of what she was seeking pleased me and I moved my finger from her tip, which she seemed to enjoy the most, down to where her lips ended, ensuring to never enter her. When that seemed to be insufficient for her to climax I added another finger and then eventually a third. It did not take her long after that for her to release and cover my fingers in her liquids. Aware it would please and comfort her, I allowed my own release to come at the same time. The sensations which enveloped my body were beyond anything I had yet experienced.

Her eyes remained closed and she almost immediately fell into sleep. Taking my fingers up to my mouth, I hesitantly allowed a drop onto my tongue. It was pure ambrosia! The downside was the animalistic desires that erupted within me. Scared to be in the same room as her, I moved at my top speed downstairs, and then into my lab.

Contained within the familiar scents of my experiments I allowed myself to take in a deep breath for the first time in hours. Instantly my body crouched into a pouncing stance my eyes darting everywhere looking for more. The vamparic aspect of myself wanted to rush and find more of the luscious aroma, but just like when I had been a newborn, I was able to retain the smallest sliver of my mind and not act on this aspect of myself. Nevertheless, it took me a few seconds to bring myself back under control.

After I was able to breathe again regularly, keeping myself restrained was less of a hardship. When I judged myself to be fully returned to my age with no lingering impulses, I licked a finger coated in her. My reaction was to return to my mid-hunt posture. Additionally, it was if all higher thinking stopped. The only thought was a repeated mantra of "Mine," and a desire to go find her. It was only following my body beginning to move and the sound of the door handle being crushed under my hand ricocheting in my ears that my mind started to regain some presence. Once more it took me a while to bring myself back into order.

Clearly taking her into me reacted some primal vampire aspect of my nature that I had been unaware of prior. The anxiety of needing to know she was well was stronger than anything I had ever felt previously. It was as if her liquid had bound me to her with stronger ties than we had prior. It seemed impossible that her human DNA could cause such a reaction in me, but I had no other explanation. It was a good thing that I had not tasted more than one drop while in her presence. It was as if she were made for me. I had to wonder what was the biological necessity for such a reaction, especially while she was still human. What would it be if she became a vampire? Any possibilities of an answer boggled my mind.

These thoughts caused me to unnecessarily worry over Esme, so then I had to once more calm myself down. When at peace again I went and washed my hands, removed my union jack to be burned, and returned to her. Fortunately, she was just as asleep as she had been when I had headed out. Closing my eyes and enjoying her presence, I spent the rest of the night praying. I offered my gratitude, and asked God for forgiveness. Taking her essence into me had altered me at a fundamental level and turning her had changed from a mental acknowledgement to an essential necessity for my survival. However, I had made little progress in figuring out how to do it in such a way which ensured that it did not kill her.

In the morning Esme greeted me with a smile.

"Did you survive my Miss Platt?" I teased.

Looking at my chest, clearly self-conscious she muttered, "Yes."

Becoming more serious I checked, "Would you be apposed to use doing that again?"

Even though my reactions in the lab had been severe, it was easily controlled, and our actual touching had been delightful. At these thoughts, I marvelled at how much Esme's presence in my life had changed me.

"Did you find your own?" she asked after a moment had passed.

"Yes," I confided in her glad to have known this would be important to her. "Touching you in this way was the most incredible experience of my existence. I am altered to the most basic aspect of myself."

Looking up at me with her eyebrow raised, she challenged me, "Most incredible?"

"Without doubt," I confirmed with a smile.

She shook her head like I was being silly, but said nothing.

Running her hands along my chest, she divulged, "It was pleasurable for me as well, but I still feel uncomfortable about the idea of you touching me in this way."

Smiling mischievously I told her, "Then, we shall simply have to practice until you are more comfortable."

Her scowl caused me to chuckle.

Becoming more serious I asked her, "Do really wish to not repeat it?"

She looked hesitant when she met my eyes. "If it is important to you, then I will not object."

"It is," I admitted, "but you still have the right to say no."

Taking in some breaths, she finally disclosed, "I suspect that you will have me overcome the messages others have instilled in me. Even if the idea troubles me, the sensation was delightful and if you enjoyed yourself, who am I to allow others' beliefs to crowd into our marriage?"

Grinning broadly, I kissed her soundly and when I withdrew stated with earnestness, "You are wise. Thank you."

She shook her head and muttered, "Being thanked for giving access to my body. Maybe I entered Wonderland."

Kissing her again in thanks, I asked her if she needed a light.

"No," she replied with a sigh. "I would like to lie with you."

"Of course, my darling," I agreed pleased.

She directed me to lie on my back and crawled into my side. She ran her hands along my chest on top of the union suit.

She broke the silence that had settled upon us like a light blanket asking, "Did you change?"

"Yes," I told her.

We lapsed into silence again until she asked, "Would you be opposed to sleeping in night pants or something similar?"

Puzzled at her request, I enquired as to the reason.

She snuggled in closer to me. Eventually she started speaking once more, "I like the feel of your chest bare when we lie together. I assumed you would rather have some sleepwear like I do, but none on top would be nice for me, and thus would require you wearing something other than your union jacks."

Noting that her tone implied the importance of this to her, I acquiesced easily. "Tomorrow after work I will pick up something, unless you would rather."

Her mouth dropped open.

"Wives often do this chore I have been told," I teased her with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "No, thank you," she replied spluttering some.

Smiling widely I told her, "Then I shall."

She smiled at me shaking her head and then settled back into me.

Over twenty minutes had passed when she enquired, "How much sleep do you require, Dr. Cullen?"

Evaluating her and considering my options, I could see no manner in which she would link a truthful answer to my nature, so answered, "None, although I do require periods of rest."

She scrutinized me and requested, "Please explain."

Sighing, I told her, "Sleep is a particular biological need. I do not need this, although I do need times of allowing my body to be in a relaxed state where the tension from the day can be released."

She pursed her lips and after long minutes stated, "I see," but then said nothing more, closing her eyes, and moving a few more centimetres closer to me.

When the light began to shine through the windows, albeit indirectly, she huffed and got out of bed.

The day turned out to be a delightful opportunity to be with her. We chatted about current topics, talked about her thoughts for the coming school year as a teacher, read together, and enjoyed each other's presence. It pleased me that we could once more return to the parts of us that most comforted me, and her question about my biological needs was never raised again.

Twice more we each used touch to bring the other to climax before the summer ended. Each time I touched her in this way she fell asleep immediately afterwards and I travelled down to my lab before breathing and then tasting her essence. The binding feeling that had happened the first time did not repeat itself, so by September I was able to keep control of myself while breathing and tasting her from my fingers. It pleased me to know I had mastered this part of me, so that I might keep Esme safe from my vampiric nature. It also pleased me at how quicker I was getting at expecting and then managing my vampiric reactions. My mastery of these things added to my confidence of what the future might hold for us.

I purchased the sleepwear she requested and counted the days until she asked about my lack of a heartbeat.

She returned to work and we fell into an easy routine. The kind of explorations we had done thus far seemed to satisfy us both. The first few weeks when I assisted in her dressing I coated her in my scent, as it was challenging to have her be away during the day. Her joy when she would speak about her students made taming my primal cravings to lock her in a tower worthwhile. When I was at work the doctors' wives committee began to be in our home regularly to prepare for the annual New Year's Gala. When the scents contained Mrs. Lemich's I found myself tensing and wanting to remove it immediately from our home. Rationally I was aware that removing the scent did not equate to her lack of presence, but since I refused to tell Esme what to do, there was little else I could do. This was especially due to Esme's refusal to speak about Mrs. Lemich at all, even upon my inquiry.

When we came into mid-October for reasons I could not explain, particularly since Esme and I seemed so content in the marriage we had constructed, often when I hunted a foreboding sense would come over me. As a result, I often hunted as quickly as possible and then returned home, as if being surrounded by humans could protect me from whatever I felt. The first time it happened I went to Esme's work and listened to her, ensuring she was well before returning home. The most concerning aspect was that there was nothing that my senses could pick up to explain the feeling.

Then one day after completing my shift, I decided to go hunting, as my body had reacted to the blood visible during a surgery. Desiring to make it as short as possible, I also reminded myself numerous times that it was important to return full. Once in the forest I ran west. Approximately twenty miles from the hospital I caught the scent of a vampire on the wind. Quickly comparing it to everyone I had met brought me to the conclusion that it was a stranger. My last encounter with a single nomadic vampire flashed through my mind. Without conscious thought I was racing home.

"Please stop Carlisle," I heard ever so faintly.

How could a vampire I had never met know my name? Had a friend told them about me and sought me out? My mind quickly went through the most likely candidates to send another of our kind my way. While considering the danger, I slowed. If the stranger were a friend of a friend, then Esme would be at less risk. Despite this, everything within me told me to find Esme.

"I do not want to hurt anyone. If I follow you, I will kill someone, and," the tone stopped, but it was anguished.

The part of me that was a doctor and desired to aid everyone I could warred within me against the basic facts that this individual had divulged. If this nomad lacked control in the degree described, then there was a significant likelihood that I was speaking with a newborn. Either way the voice had made it clear that resisting humans was challenging and I had Esme's scent all over me. Like with the last nomad, it took me barely a second to choose protecting Esme over my usual reaction of helping all that needed assistance.

"I see that if I come too near that it could ruin things. I really don't want to hurt her, so I'm staying away," the voice told me.

Disconcerted with the warning, I stopped running and turned towards the voice. Just like before, without any conscience thought my body had decided that defending Esme by confrontation was best. I was loathed to kill another being, but without a doubt my body was preparing for that eventuality while my mind was quickly figuring out how to best keep Esme safe. The most disturbing part of the nomad's words was that no one knew about Esme, because my actions had made sure of it. Killing the last vampire to capture her scent, left no vampire that knew of her existence. The only reasonable conclusion was that the owner of this voice had a gift, something that gave him or her, although the tone of the voice suggested a female, knowledge that should be impossible to have. Since they already knew about Esme, getting close enough to know whom I was facing seemed like the more prudent choice. Thus, my mind agreed with my body to move closer to this stranger and defend Esme.

"You have my attention," I informed the stranger. "Why have you sought me out?"

Even before my words had finished coming out of my mouth the voice started ranting rapidly, "You are doing it wrong. You were supposed to leave her. There was going to be seven of us, but now there are none except me and my blond-haired warrior. I do not know how to fix it. I have tried to find a way and talking with you seems like the only possibility."

With all of the rapid power of my mind I attempted to puzzle out her words.

After a few seconds and nothing easily coming to mind, I informed the voice, "I apologise, but I do not understand."

"Yes, right, I did it in the wrong order," the voice told me sounding distraught. "This is that and that is this, but it did not happen that way. Chicago, maybe, I cannot remember. Why cannot I remember? Not here, no later somewhere else. He saves them, but now the boy cannot be saved." The ramblings continued except that the words no longer came to me in a coherent manner that made sense.

I needed to take charge of the situation, except I was not sure how to do that.

"May I have your name?" I asked cordially figuring it was as good of a place as any to start, and hoping that creating common ground would result of protecting Esme without another death at my hands.

"Alice, maybe, well I think it is Alice. He calls me Alice, so it must be Alice," was the reply.

"Alice," I said, still not fully understanding this vampire's speech. I had never heard of a vampire who spoke to him or herself like this, at least that was what it seemed like to me. It reminded me of a schizophrenic patient more than anything else, actually. Not allowing my mind to get distracted about the possibility of a schizophrenic human being turned into a vampire and keeping that human ailment, I continued. "I need to return home, wash off, and remove the human scents from me. I can return in two hours. Would that be helpful?"

There was a pause, as if she was considering my proposal. The response was exuberant and seemed out of place, "Yes, that is a good idea. You can find some of your old hunting clothes in your third drawer of your dresser near the back. Those would be the best choice. Go now. I will wait here."

Not knowing how to respond, I started moving back to the city.

"Yes, right, good. This will be better. Carlisle is smart and has good ideas. He will help," could barely be heard as I ran.

Briskly walking home, I tried to hasten my steps without appearing to be hurrying quicker than what would appear human. Stripping and then bathing rapidly, I dressed casually. Finding the clothes the forest voice had mentioned where she had said that they would be was disconcerting. Putting them in a laundry bag, as if I was taking them to the laundrettes, I wrote a note for Esme so that she would not worry, and left my home.

The whole journey back home, during my cleaning, and then returning to this Alice I found myself gaining in anger. Why had God brought more risk into Esme's life? We had found a sliver of peace from my world. I had just begun to comprehend how to be a vampire doctor with faith. How come things had to change? Before Esme I had gone over a decade before encountering another vampire, and since marrying her there had not been one, but two. It seemed like God was against letting us be, as if the trouble with the Lemichs were not enough.

It had taken me a little more than an hour before had I re-entered the forest. Stripping quickly, I put my regular clothes in the bag and changed into the older ones. Then, I hid the bag under a bush and for extra precaution rolled in the forest floor. When I stood up Esme's scent was very hidden and barely noticeable. Its lack of presence saddened me and a dull pain was became present in my chest, even if I knew it was for the best. Feeling more assured that my attire would not lead the nomad to Esme, I began to retrace my steps.

A few miles from the city my anger and circling thoughts at God's cruelty crescendoed and overcame me. In reaction to my feelings, I roared in frustration, "Why?"

Suddenly I had the image of myself as a young boy yelling something similar at my father when his expectations had seemed unfair. Then, my father had stated at a loud volume and low baritone, "What did you say to me son?"

The feeling of guilt and shame were suddenly strong bringing me to my knees with my head prostrate to the ground. The Almighty Father had watched over me for over two centuries, had given me a way to live my life without killing humans, and had offered me strength allowing me to become a doctor. I might not comprehend the purpose of His hand, but certainly Esme's presence spoke volumes. She was the greatest of gifts. My attitude was borderline blasphemous.

Abashed at my own immaturity I whispered in prayer, "Forgive me."

Ironically, shortly after I felt calmer, as if my outburst had been forgiven.

Taking in a deep breath, I reminded myself the verse, "Do not worry about your life," and those homilies I had heard regarding how the Almighty gives good gifts. Irrelevant of my doubts, I needed to trust. Was this not what my life with Esme had been about? Each movement required me trusting in something unseen. The priest's words that faith was acting after the impingement of the Almighty, despite assurances of what would be the outcome, seemed particularly apt for this circumstance. My body's desire was to fight this nomad or run and hide Esme.

Instead, I chose to act in faith. Standing once more, I returned to where this Alice had last spoken to me. If God had put this young one in my path, then I had to believe it was for a purpose. Did that mean God had intended for me to end that nomad's life? That seemed wrong, while at the same time, clearly him crossing my path had led to my awareness of my emotions for Esme. How much of my life had been choice and how much had been ordained? Was that not the question of philosophers for all time? Before I could even register a sound that might signal her approach, a small black-haired newborn stood fifty feet from me startling me from my thoughts.

She immediately looked down and spoke rapidly, "This is better, but I do not want to get closer and risk it, although I do not see anything happening, I would rather take the extra caution."

I could not disagree with her assessment, and even appreciated her precautions. "That is kind and thoughtful of you," I told her as a reinforcement of her behaviour.

"I miss you so much, Carlisle," she told me with longing. "I really want to come over and hug you, but I see that if I do I might catch a human scent, and I have been trying so hard not to kill them. So, I will stay over here, even though I really do not want to."

Once more I was flummoxed. It seemed impossible that she would miss me, as we had yet to meet. Repeatedly, the only logical answer was a gift of some kind.

Smiling slightly at her in encouragement, I told her, "I am glad you are being cautious. It says a lot for someone so young that you are trying so hard."

"Well, if I do not, the guys in black capes come and take me away, and I will not like it where they would take me, so it is better if I bury them, but even better when it is an animal, because no one asks about the animals."

"That is true," I told her agreeing with the general concept, although her words seemed like a jumbled mess. My growing concern for Esme caused me to ask, "What are your intentions little one?"

"Intentions?" she parroted back.

"Yes," I confirmed. "Why have you sought me out? What are you wanting from our encounter?"

"Intentions," she mumbled quietly like she was trying to absorb the word. A second later she replied in rapid fire, "I needed to tell you about the boy, so he would not become lost. I like learning through what I see, but learning while together seemed even better. I have watched you help others, so I thought you could help fix it. And it seemed okay." She then looked at me earnestly, "I checked many different ways and picked the best one. I got near to you, but it took me a while to get it just right."

There were so many things in her statement to decipher that it seemed prudent to start with more basic things. After a pause and considering how to proceed, I decided to ask her how she came to know my name.

"Well, I saw you second," she told me before I had uttered a word. "I did not understand, but then I saw your lips at the throat of a deer and it took some time, but I figured out that you were killing them instead of men. So, I tried to search you to better understand and that was when I met Esme and she called you Carlisle. She really is lovely. I want to introduce myself to her; I do, but it does not go well, at least not yet. Maybe in the future."

My curiosity was running rampant within me. At the same time that I was trying to decipher her words, I was also trying to decide what to ask next. It seemed like she was incapable of answering my questions, at least directly.

"I do not really know," she told me hanging her head, "I saw you and decided to come speak to you, then there were different possibilities. In a lot of them Esme died, and you would not like that, and I like Esme, so I tried the one that looked like it would work the best for Esme."

"That was kind of you," I told her on reflex, holding back a growl and desire to burn her, focusing instead on my appreciation of her intention to keep Esme safe, even if her words had both shook and shocked me.

She waved her hand as if it was no big deal. "Sometimes when I see you, you are helping humans and that makes me thirsty. I have tried staying in the forest to make it easier, but sometimes it is hard."

"Yes, not killing humans can be hard," I concurred with her, hoping that the more she spoke the more clarity I would gain, even though the rest of her speech made little sense, "but I think it is worth it."

She nodded as if agreeing. "Yes, let us do that," she told me enthusiastically before I had a chance to voice my offer to hunt together.

The conversation reminded me a little of talking to Aro, these half relayed sentences that were in response to something he had heard me think about months before and took me ages to discover what he was on about. This young nomad and I had not touched, and her hearing my thoughts did not explain half of what she had been talking about.

Waving my hand forward, I encouraged her to go ahead. She stilled and then like a flash of lightning ran off. The direction she went confused me, as I had not caught the scent of anything from the bearing in which she ran, but I followed her nonetheless confused and curious.

It did not take long before we came across some deer. She took down one in a fashion that was eerily similar to how I hunted. In Volturra only Demetri had ever willingly gone with me and tried an animal, and I had not really had the opportunity to observe him. It was as if I had taught this Alice to hunt, even though I had never met her. It was unnerving.

Giving her some space, I ran down my own deer and enjoyed the nourishment it gave me. I sensed her coming close to me, too near to be polite, but forced myself to enjoy what was left of the animal, trusting her not to challenge me, and let her be. Afterwards I said a prayer, as usual.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked bewildered.

"Thanking the animal for its life," I told her while closing its eyes and then turned to her.

"Why?" she asked clearly confused.

"It died so that I might live, and continue my work. I appreciate its sacrifice. My father was a man of the cloth and we often thanked God for the food before we ate it," I tried to explain as she was looking even more confounded.

She seemed unable to be still, which was strange for our kind. Possibly it was because she was a newborn and her senses were overwhelming to her. At that time in my life, I had tended to respond by being a statue, but perhaps females were different. She was the first newborn I had met, and although Aro and I had spoken in generalities about most newborns, those years were a topic that I disliked the most to think about, so the conversations were much more brief than other topics.

"Do you need another?" I asked her remembering how often I had needed blood when a newborn myself and, given my reaction to blood at work earlier, that another would probably be prudent for me.

She stopped a microsecond before running off again.

Taking that as a yes, I followed her.

This time I hung back and watched her. Finding the animal seemed to be mostly governed by her gift, whatever it may be, but her kill technique was mine almost exactly. Gaining that confirmation, I focused on finding my own source of blood. When finished I prayed once more and could sense her scrutinizing me.

Standing up, I moved far enough away that other animals would begin being attracted to the carcass and then sat down in hopes of calming her, since having her sit also seemed prudent.

Before I could speak, she asked her head cocked to the side "What is a man of the cloth?"

Realising the older term, I answered, "They are also called a pastor, priest, and sometimes preacher."

She cocked her head to the side. "What is that?"

Confused by her question, I asked, "What do you remember of your human life?"

She was instantly shocked. "My human life?" she nearly stuttered.

"Yes," I said somewhat slowly, although not quite at a human speed, "we are vampires. We were humans before a vampire bit us. The bite changes us and we become a vampire ourselves."

"Oh," she said as if that explained so much. "When I woke up I did not remember anything from before. I had an image of a blond man, but when I went to go find him I lost him, so I stayed and there he was again. Then, after images of the black cloaks and wanting to not have dead men at my feet I saw you. His life is painful, so I do not search him out much, but your life is interesting. You love Esme," she tacked on to her rapid speech with a sigh as if it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Yes, I love Esme very much," I agreed. Without calculation I asked her, "Do you have any idea, then, of the age you were when you were turned or how long since you became a vampire?"

She looked momentarily surprised and then proceeded to ask me, "What do you mean?"

Feeling like I truly was speaking to an infant, albeit one with verbal skills, I explained, "Most cultures count a person's age by the number of times they have been alive and the calendar has come back around. For instance, the seasons had passed through their full rotations about 24 times when I became a vampire, and I have lived as a vampire for over two hundred full rotations of the seasons."

She froze and seemed lost in her mind. When she came back to the present she told me, "When I woke up the leaves of the trees were green and here they are colourful."

Instantly realising the difficulty in communicating time when we did not sleep and without knowing what region she had travelled from, I asked instead, "How many sunrises have you seen? The sun goes to bed and there is less light. Sunrise is when the light comes again."

She nodded seriously before once more she became statuesque, and then with no warning became animated, "Sixty-three I think, but sometimes in the forest it is hard to know for sure."

Quickly doing the calculations of when she had been turned, I agreed with her assessment of it being an estimate, "You are correct that the forest sometimes hides the sun."

After some moments of thought, I decided to ask her what she meant earlier when she said that she could see me.

"I do not know," she answered sighing sadly before the words even left my mouth. "You just came to me. Then, I decided to come find you and you did not disappear like the other man, so I figured it was okay."

"You decided?" I asked trying to put this puzzle together.

"Yes, I decided," she answered with slight irritation like a little kid frustrated with adults who were not listening properly, "and then I figured out how to make my way to you. But I have a sense that something is not right. I cannot be sure, because I have not seen it, but I think there was supposed to be a boy."

She decided and then she saw. Clearly it was a gift of some kind, but what type?

"What have you seen about me?" I asked trying to understand better.

"You go to a place that has lots of blood and your hands have blood on it, but you do not drink it. Watching that makes _me_ thirsty, though, so I try to stop watching when you are doing that."

"How do you stop watching?" I asked awed that she would be able to see that.

It was as if she could see through space and maybe even time. Many of my ideas seemed against physics, but psychic? There were some studies I had read about humans abilities that surpassed what could be explained by scientists. Could she have had some ability that she brought into her second life? Or perhaps even it had been heightened like our other senses? My thoughts certainly matched what Aro had taught me regarding humans' attributes being increased via the transformation into a vampire like Jane and Alex.

"I decide that I do not want to watch and then you disappear. I decide to watch again and you appear, although I have learned to wait until there is more light. When the light is decreased is _not_ a good time to watch you," she told me firmly and with a hint of accomplishment.

"That is true," I agreed. "I have a job in the human world. I work as a doctor, someone who helps humans get better if they get hurt or sick. I usually work at night time, when the sky is not as bright."

"Doctor," she muttered to herself as if she was trying to work it out. Then looking up at me knowingly she said, "Dr. Cullen."

"Yes," I agreed smiling slightly. "Doctor is my job, Carlisle is my first name, like yours is Alice, and Cullen is my surname, the name of my father."

She looked dejected. "I do not have a second name."

"Who was there when you awoke?" I asked, but she looked confused again. "Who bit you?" I tried once more.

"There was no one when I woke up," she answered forlorn. For the first time she stilled completely and then oddly her eyes glazed over. "Esme is going to worry soon. You need to go," she told me sadly.

Nodding in agreement, even if her ability to guess at that was odd. It made me wonder the extent of her ability. Putting that all aside, I told her, "And to answer your question a man of the cloth is another job. It is someone who teaches about religious matters."

Her eyes got bigger. Then muttering she uttered, "So many questions, so many confusing things, but Esme needs him. I will wait for my questions."

Appreciative of her character and willingness to put Esme's needs first, I nevertheless had more questions than my mind could categorise without some time.

Standing up, I told her, "I would appreciate it if you stayed away from people. When my friends visit me they know to not kill humans near where I live. Doing so keeps the humans I live near alive and me safe. Also, I would be sad if you accidently killed a human. However, since you are so new into this life, it is more challenging to resist their blood. It does get easier to resist. I promise. Saying all that, if unfortunately a human comes into the woods and you cannot stop yourself, bury the body down deep so no one can find it."

"I do not want to find dead men at my feet," she insisted, "but you are right that sometimes they come to me and I cannot help it," she told me sadly.

"I understand," I told her soothingly. "Even trying not to is hard work. I am impressed."

She smiled so widely I thought her skin might crack.

"Might we speak again tomorrow?" I asked.

"Tomorrow?" she asked me her head tilted slightly.

"When the sun rises once more," I explained.

She stopped still and her eyes glazed once more. When she focused again on her surroundings she began skipping. "I see you coming. So yes, I will see you tomorrow."

At that declaration, I began to walk towards town. When we returned to the spot where we had first met I told her, "I enjoyed meeting you Alice. See you tomorrow in this same place."

"Tomorrow," she agreed. "Oh, and Carlisle, Esme is meant to be a vampire. Whichever method you end up choosing, she will be beautiful."

By the time her parting words reached me I was far enough away that I doubted my ability to hear her correctly. But it gave me quite a bit of hope. If she really could see through time and space, and she was right, then I would eventually find a way to turn her successfully.

Smiling broadly I was bounding back to my clothes. Changing once more, I left my present attire in the bag, as I planned on using them again tomorrow.

The entire time I walked back to Esme and my home my mind ran though Alice's words over and over. Just as Alice had predicted, Esme was home and appeared slightly concerned when I walked in the door. The accuracy of her words confirmed absolutely that she had a gift and it was future orientated.

Esme wrapped me in a hug as soon as the front door had closed behind me.

"What is it, Esme?" I asked, pulling her back some, needing to look into her face. "I left a note."

Large droplets of tears fell from her eyes, and her gaze moved to my chest. "I did get your note. I am being silly."

Putting my hands on her face I refuted her, "Esme if you are upset, then it is not silly. Please tell me your concern."

After her taking some deep breaths, she looked up into my eyes and with moisture still present in hers told me, "When I came home and you were not here I immediately thought about when you had returned covered in the smell of burnt candy corn and poppy seeds. I kept seeing images of something bad happening to you. I simply cannot bear the thought of losing you." At that she moved closer to me pulling herself into my chest.

Smiling at her concern for me, I repositioned my hands to be around her back, while she continued to hold onto me. Her intuitive awareness that I had been with another vampire, even if her extrapolations were inaccurate raised questions for me. Was it simply women's intuition or something more? When she took the time to paint, she often captured the essence of a thing. Was she doing something similar? I was not sure. When it became clear that she could not hold still anymore I suggested we move to the sofa in the sitting room.

"Let me remove my hat," I told her.

Nodding she moved towards the sitting room while I put my hat on the rack and unbuttoned my vest.

Afterwards I came and sat next to her putting her hands into mine. "I did run into someone today, but they were friendly and seemed to mean us no harm."

Immediately she looked at me accusingly.

"Male or female?" she asked with a tone of animosity.

Uncertain about her reaction, I nevertheless answered easily, "Female."

She took her hand from me and slumped.

Completely confused at her behaviour I asked concerned "What is it?"

"Now what?" she asked sadly.

Her response puzzled me. Putting my finger under her chin and moving it towards me I urged her, "Esme look at me."

When her eyes met mine the moisture that had lessened was thick once more.

"Esme, you are my wife," I reminded her, my voice full of my connection with her. "Our bond is solid and steady. I love none other. What is your concern?"

She frowned and repeated herself, "It is silly."

"Nevertheless, I wish to hear you," I encouraged her.

Taking in a deep breath and straightening herself, she held my eyes while telling me, "I was frightened beyond belief that you would not return to me. Before you arrived home I was terrified that you had been killed. My mind is conjuring other scenarios in which you leave me."

Taking her hands to my lips, I kissed the top one, which she had previous had folded on her lap. "I too am mortified of losing you. The first couple of days when you returned to work, I wanted to follow you. It is okay my dear Miss Platt to be afraid. And I have vowed to do everything in my power to remain by your side."

She acknowledged my words with a nod, but still appeared solemn.

"Have you forgotten that I am trained as a gentleman?" I asked gently infusing a bit of teasing into my tone.

Her eyes brightened some. "I have not forgotten."

"Have faith," I suggested and then realised the irony of my words.

Instead of having faith when she had started back to work, I had been forcing myself into remaining home. Rather than trying to beat myself into giving her space, perhaps it would be better if I had trusted that the Almighty would keep her safe when I was not near. Even though we were being tested, she was still alive and well. That had to mean something.

She nodded and sighed heavily. After a moment of what seemed to be internal debate she looked up and asked me hesitantly, "Then why did you not bring her back to meet me?"

Knowing this would have been the expected behaviour of her era, I grimaced realising that answering this question was troubling. As fast as my mind could move, I could not find a way of explaining in a truthful and honest manner without risking her even more.

Choosing my words more carefully than ever before, I told her, "She has just recently been infected, and thus a danger to you."

Esme looked at me calculatingly. "So, a female approached you, you spend time with her, and you did not have me meet her because she is dangerous?"

"Yes," I answered knowing by her tone that she thought my answer was ridiculous. Slumping, believing I needed to tell her something to defend my actions, I explained, "The first year or two after someone is infected is when they are most likely to harm others. It takes time to learn how to keep yourself in such a way that others are safe."

It was a half-truth; the closest to a lie I had ever told, because it left out the part where the true danger lay, not in infection but in death.

Her features changed and she looked at me with compassion.

"What is it, my love?" I asked unable to understand what her expression might mean.

As soon as my question had passed my lips, she took on the calculating look she would get when she was trying to find the answer to a complex puzzle.

Then without warning her eyes met mine and she stated with certainty, "The virus you speak of transforms you into another species that is humanoid."

Frowning, I was at a loss of what to say.

"She is now of your kind, but not of mine," she accused. "What am I to think?"

Putting my hands on the side of her face, I told her earnestly, "That I am bonded to you, to no other, that I love you, cherish you, and have made vows before God."

Once more her calculating look that meant she was putting together even more pieces and getting ready to hold me to the truth graced her features.

Holding her gaze I begged her, "Please do not ask for more. I refuse to lie to you. I promise you my sweet and wonderful wife that she is looking for a mentor, nothing more."

She stilled for a second before throwing herself onto me and wrapped her arms around me tears wettening my shirt.

"I'm sorry I pushed. I know you said that knowledge is dangerous. I just was so scared that you would never return. Merely the thought of it tears me apart."

Holding her close, I so wished I could tell her about Alice, what Alice said, and particularly Alice's parting words, but talking to her about Alice and Alice's gift would open up Esme's mind to possibilities that I did not want her to consider. Even though Esme was securely in my arms, for the first time since we had gotten married I felt as if a chasm had developed between us, and our drawing closeness over these years had been removed instantly by my continuing to keep the truth from her.

The sun had begun to set by the time that Esme spoke once more her voice hesitant, as if she was reluctant to voice her thoughts. "Are you going to mentor her?"

As I had not considered the possibility prior, it took me some time to find the words. "She seems to be alone, and in need of guidance, but I will tell her no if you ask me not to. No one is more important in this world than you, my love."

Her body tightened and she pulled herself in closer to me. "Take me to bed," she requested her voice sounding unattached.

Pulling her into my arms, I carried her upstairs, undressed her, put on her nightgown, and tucked her into bed. "I can call in sick," I told her.

"No," she answered lifelessly, "Go save others. I will see you when I return from work tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" I asked frowning completely baffled at what had caused Esme's response to my answer.

"Yes," she replied lifelessly.

Looking at her, I was not sure if I should abide by her wishes. She was withdrawing and I did not know how to fix it. After some careful consideration, I decided to do as she had requested, hoping that giving her space and time to think would be helpful to her.

After arriving late with a mild scolding from the chief evening surgeon my whole shift was done perfunctory. It was a good thing that I had so many years experience. The distance between Esme and I gnawed at me from the inside. Nevertheless, after work I kept my word, changed my clothes, and went to the forest in order to visit Alice.

* * *

 _A/N: Those of you not familiar with my writing style might be disappointed to learn that I do not end stories in a nice bow, thus I will also have an Epilogue to hopefully help assuage any disappointment you might feel. This story was meant to be about Carlisle's search for faith and that, from my perspective, has almost reach its finale. To add another disappointment to many of you, I have not committed to a new story. Of course, I'm full of ideas as usual, but nothing strong enough to inspire me. Right now, the strongest impulse is to write the third installment that started with A Little More Heart, but I haven't even finished outlining it.  
_

 _I know I say this often, nevertheless it bears repeating: I am incredibly grateful for you._


	23. Crowned Vir Fidem

**Chapter 23: Crowned Vir Fidem**

* * *

"I am so sorry, it is all my fault," Alice was repeating over and over again as soon as I was in hearing distance.

When close enough to view her I asked gently like I might one of my young human patients, "What is your fault, Alice?"

"I should not have come," she told me looking at me crestfallen. "I did not see. I did not know. I just was lonely and it looked to be okay, but now you are both sad."

Examining her closely, attempting to follow the conversation, it took me a few minutes.

When the pieces fell together I told her gently, "Couples have arguments; they disagree. Yes, we are both upset, but we will work it out."

Alice froze in her distress and looked up at me eyeing me carefully, as if trying to discern if I was telling her lies.

"Are you sure?" she asked in a manner that suggested that she was very sceptical.

Smiling sadly, I decided to sit down, as she was on the ground leaning against a tree her legs around her like she was in a ball.

"It is not your fault," I told her attempting to press the point through my tone. "You are doing your best. I am doing my best. Esme and I will work things out."

She looked at me startled, "How?"

Chuckling, I told her, "I do not know yet, but we will figure a way through this patch."

She smiled brightly like my news had resolved her pain, and then offered, "Maybe I could help."

Uncertain and a bit reluctant of what she might mean by helping I asked, "How could you help?"

"Well, if I decide, then I see. Maybe if you decide, I will see, and then that can help," she told me triumphantly looking very much like a little kid who had figured out an adult problem.

"You are describing being able to see the outcomes of decision?" I asked checking astonished at the very possibility.

Certainly vampires having gifts was nothing new to me. Jane's gift alone was incredible in a sadistic type of way, but to see the future? I could only begin to imagine the benefit Alice could offer to Aro and the vampire world. At the moment the thought entered, it dawned on me that maybe their lifestyle would disturb her as much as it had me, and she would be unhappy there. As soon as these thoughts entered, I chastised myself. She was God's daughter and not a tool. She had her own path, one that God would reveal to her. Offering an apology for my errant thought to the Almighty, I once more focused on her.

"I think so," she answered reluctantly sounding sad once more.

Her emotions altered more quickly than any vampire I had ever met. Perhaps it was a side effect of being newly to this life, I pondered, and then quickly set that line of thought aside for another time.

She continued probably unaware of my internal musings, "You ask good questions, and your questions got me thinking more. I could see that if I got too close to you upon seeing you with my eyes that I could want Esme too much. Although it was fuzzy, so I cannot say for sure, it was there of me hurting her. But I did not want to do that, so I decided to keep my distance from you, and she is not hurt. So, that worked, but I did not see my coming causing her to be sad."

With her confirmation of my theory my mind whirled at the possibilities. She was newly into this life, so she probably did not have much control over her gift yet, but in ten years, a hundred? To know the possible outcomes of a decision was a powerful gift. This time I dismissed the thought of her benefit to Aro as soon as it arose, once more reminding myself that her fate was God's to create. At the same time, if she was being honest, and truly did not understand how it worked, asking her questions about it directly seemed futile. Instead, a more indirect approach would be needed, especially as that had more productive yesterday.

Immediately, it also became likely combining her assessment of her gift and then the fact that she had seen Esme's upset that she would be able to see the outcome of other's decisions. My mind immediately realised, taking that as a given, that even if I wanted to collect Esme and hide from Alice, her gift would relay to her the outcome of my decision. To act without a decision would be a difficult task. Thus, her gift also made Alice especially dangerous, more so than any nomadic vampire I had ever encountered prior. A part of me wanted to hope that she could only see the results of her decisions, but rationally that did not fit all the data.

After putting the possible consequences together, it appeared that my only option was to hope that Alice was being truthful when she said that she did not want to hurt Esme, because avoiding Alice, if she wanted to find me, seemed like it would be a near impossible task. It would make ending her life formidable. Any vampire that opposed her would have to be acting on instinct and making no decision while also incredibly skilled at killing our kind. The possibility of that type of vampire existing was small. No were better skilled than the Volturi, but they were calculated and purposeful. The prospect was truly terrifying for both Esme and myself.

The fear that momentarily consumed me was intense. Yet, my mind reminded me of how much Esme had been teaching me about trust and faith. Just like the conversation we had surrounding the first nomad, it was not about capacity, but intent. It was clear that Alice had the greatest capacity for harm outside of the Volturi, and as the years passed even possibly greater than them. However, that capacity did not indicate intent. Thus far, Alice had voiced her intent to keep Esme safe, going so far to wait for us to meet until she was certain Esme remained unharmed. Nevertheless, trusting in Alice's words was excruciating. Clearly God was testing me. Just with my bloodlust, shortly after becoming convinced that my struggles were no longer an issue, a test from the Almighty would be given to me. And even though I passed these tests, it reminded me over and over to not put my guard down and become complacent. Maybe that was the purpose of Alice arriving. Even with these high stakes could I trust and have faith?

Praying for me to pass this test and to allow God to give me strength, so that I might continue resisting having my fear dictate how I lived my life, I reminded myself to focus on Alice. Going through possible topics which would allow me more insight into her gift, I then asked her a question that was not essential, but had been tickling my brain since she had said it. "Alice, yesterday you said there was supposed to be a boy, that things were not right. What did you mean?"

She looked down. "I cannot help it, you know," she replied sad and seemingly embarrassed.

"I understand," I told her attempting to comfort her, even though I had no understanding of what had upset her, and hoped doing so would assist her in opening up.

"The very first thing I saw when I awoke was a beautiful scarred man. I love him, even if I have not met him yet. Next thing I registered was that my throat burned badly, so I opened my eyes and went to find something to soothe it. I saw a man in the forest with me, so I went towards him hoping he could help me, but when I looked around with my eyes he was dead on the ground with puncture wounds and blood on him. I went to leave him and I saw creatures with black cloaks coming to get me. I was scared of them, so I went back to the dead man not sure what to do. I picked different options. The best one seemed to be if I buried him, so I did. After a few times of finding dead men at my feet and having to bury them, I wondered if I had any other options. That was when I saw you drinking from a deer. I decided to try your way. It took me a bit, but I finally figured out how to see you on purpose."

I appreciated the explanation and it made much more sense than what she had said yesterday, even though she had not answered my question. Deciding to set aside my curiosity and tell her my history, she stilled and her eyes glazed over.

Eventually she looked at me and blinked. "That was very interesting. So, the black cloaks have a name?"

Chuckling and shaking my head, I did not quite know how to take her knowing my story without my having to say it, since that was what seemed to have happened. Nevertheless, I answered her question, "Assuming that the cloaks in your vision are the same as the Volturi, then yes. The Volturi are the enforcers of the laws of our kind. The most important law is that humans are not to know that we exist, so we bury our kills and hide the truth."

What connected quickly was the fact that she was already avoiding them, and it was unlikely that they were aware of her existence. Her story made her incredible in her fortitude, but also even more powerful than I had already believed. How easily could she twist and turn the future finding the outcome that best suited her? It would be easy for someone with a gift like hers to become an egomaniac. That reality made me think of my father and his lessons of humbleness. To have no history? To be born with no memories of morals or virtues? The thought brought a shudder that I suppressed. If I thought God was testing me, it was a huge test and the terror I felt was the worst I had ever experienced since becoming a vampire.

All the while Alice had appeared to be thinking over my words. She seemed to notice none of my emotional states and be immersed in her own internal world, which was a blessing. Certainly, no newborn needed to be feared. No, what she needed like any young person was understanding and guidance.

After the longest pause that I had observed her take she asked, "Does Esme know?"

"No," I told her sadly. "Esme is still human. She does not know about the Volturi or even about vampires. If she were to know, then I will have to make her one of us."

"That is good," Alice retorted ecstatic once more, and without pause added, "I would like to meet her."

Hoping that would not equal Alice using her gift to force that outcome, I set it aside and pressed, wanting to distract her, at least temporarily, from the thought of Esme becoming a vampire, "So, about the boy that is missing?"

"Oh, yes," she said after a moment her tone apologetic. "When I first saw you I had a feeling like something was wrong. I did not see anything exactly, more of a sense, but I think there was meant to be a boy in your family. But you do not. Instead you have Esme."

If she saw decisions … I tried to think back to where my life might have changed trajectories because of what I had chosen. The only thing that could fit within what she was describing was my choice to ask Esme to court me. If I had not done that, I probably would have gone to Chicago instead. Perhaps there I would have met the boy she spoke about. Alice's visions and her certainty about him being missing in my life could not alter my definitive conviction that I would not change these past years with Esme for anything. Without a doubt a 'might have been' was nothing to fret about in my book, so I had to wonder the toll Alice's gift might be having on her.

While I had considered her answer her face had been scrunched up like she was trying to remember something. She then interrupted my thoughts by blurting out, "He is important. He brings the protector."

Although I attempted to appear neutral and despite my otherwise beliefs, her words, but even more so her tone, caused me to sense that I had failed at something important. I truly believed that the joy of my present life was because of my expanded faith and trust in Esme. God would not punish me for having more faith, would He, especially as I had been so careful to look for signs? As soon as the question arose, I dismissed it. No, I had followed the path that had been put in front of me. The verse, "and you shall know them by their fruit" came to mind. Esme and my relationship, despite its challenges and my uncertainty, was demonstration enough. Then, there were the changes that had occurred within me that removed all possible doubt that I was living the life meant for me.

Given that, Alice's words were an articulation of my need to expand my faith even further. Attempting to let go of the weight that her words had placed upon me, I told myself that I needed instead to have faith that this boy, whoever he was, was in God's hands. This boy's life was not his own, any more than mine, and that if he was meant to be a vampire, and even more so, meant to be in my life, that God would work it out.

She looked down at her hands continuing on without pause her words a backdrop to my musings. "Somethings are not decisions. Somethings are just meant to be. There are choices, and choices make a difference, but somethings, no matter what, are meant to come about, and we only choose the details."

"Like me being bitten?" I interrupted her, feeling very much the vulnerable twenty-four year old of all those years ago who wanted nothing more than to win my father's approval.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I cannot really say. It is hard to explain. I can see things, but this bigger stuff, I just feel it. The boy is important."

Watching her carefully, I tried to decipher her words. If she was right, and there was such a thing as destiny, then God would take care of it. Even with this information, I was glad for the choices that had been given to me. How much of my life was in God's hands and how much was in mine? It was a curious thought, but one best left for philosophers. If these last years had taught me anything, it was that my role was to make the best decisions I could with logic and heart and faith, then let the rest go.

Alice seemed to be led by her visions. Thus, her conviction about this boy was not worth the discussion. Maybe after her newborn years we could have a discussion about the limitations of her gift. It also seemed like she had placed her faith in them instead of in the Almighty. It was a curious thought what kind of reaction to her gift I would have had without Esme in my life these past years. This thought only confirmed my gratefulness for the lessons Esme had brought into my life. I was a changed creature and beyond appreciative for those alterations.

Given Alice's stance about the boy, I let that conversation go, and made sure to disbar any temptation she might have quicken Esme to become a vampire, "If what you said is true, then Esme will become a vampire when it is best for her."

Alice looked at me very seriously. After a few minutes, which was the longest I had observed her to be silent she asked, "You mean that since it is not a decision, since it is meant to be, that making a decision to make it happen would be a bad idea."

"Nearly," I agreed pleased that she had captured that idea. "If certain things are ordained by God, then nothing we do would make them happen or stop them from happening. Esme was brought into my life and through God's grace shown to me to be my partner in this life. Thus, she was meant to be with me. Nevertheless, perhaps the method is a decision. Thus, I am curious if you have seen which method of turning Esme would work best?"

"I did not see the details, but it seems that whatever you choose will work," Alice uttered in a tone that was dismissive, suggesting that my question had been daft. Yet, underneath her dismissive tone I could hear uncertainty.

"What changed?" I asked believing that something she observed through her gift must have been the catalyst for Alice's tone.

"Me," she replied dejected.

"You?" I inquired confused.

"Somehow my presence has changed the likelihood," she replied reluctantly as if ashamed to admit this to me.

Thinking over the time since I left, I reached a different conclusion. It was the gap between Esme and I, not Alice's presence.

"I would like Esme to meet you, soon, which means when she is a human," I decided. "But first you must learn to control yourself. Let us hunt together," I offered.

Alice looked jubilant while she jumped up and down. Then, she shook her head as if trying to dislodge whatever was in her mind, but she stilled and ran in a direction. Realizing this meant she was hunting, I followed. Once she fed, taking nothing myself, we returned to where we had spoken.

When we came back she sat less than ten feet from me and in a confessional tone told me, "I cannot see if she will survive us meeting."

Smiling sadly at her lack of faith she had in herself and in me to prepare her, I explained, "This is not a fated issue. Try to trust me. We will begin getting you ready. First, I will bring some clothing from the hospital that contains humans' scent. You'll want to stop breathing, so that the scent does not send you into a frenzy. The next task will be to not look at the veins and such. Esme will come as covered as possible, but ultimately the responsibility is yours. The last is to try to block out the sound of her heart. It has taken me hundreds of years to gain the control I have, but if I brought her here, in the forest and you were far enough away, and you had some ability to not allow your instincts to rule you, then it should be fine." I looked at her sternly, "But know little one, she means everything to me and I will not hesitate to pull you apart if you were to as so much a snarl at her."

Alice's eyes got big, but she nodded, and mumbled to herself incoherently.

Modulating my voice to be gentle again, I told her, "Also, since she is human and does not know about our kind, you must learn how to, at least, speak slow enough that she can understand you."

She looked at me confused.

"Humans do everything slower than us, including talk. We shall practice," I promised her.

She beamed widely, uttered, "Thank you," and then rushed at me.

In the second to decide, I determined that she meant no harm.

She wrapped her arms around me. "Thank you, thank you."

Something akin to affection passed through me. "You are welcome, little one," I uttered before I kissed the crown of her head.

Letting go and stepping back a good three feet, she asked with longing, "Tomorrow?"

"Yes," I agreed.

She appeared forlorn when I left. Since it was a feeling that had lived within me for over two centuries, it was challenging for me to leave her. Walking back to my clothes and changing, as well as while travelling home, my thoughts were around how I had come to resist human blood, and what trials I would want to put Alice through before introducing her to Esme could be considered. Fortunately, I got home shortly after Esme, finding her in the kitchen making herself something.

"Are you hungry?" she asked me.

"If you will, I would like for us to speak," I replied implying that I would not take food at this time.

She nodded her head down.

When she sat at the small dining table I joined her. She looked over at me as she took a bite.

"I saw Alice again today," I started.

Water began to form in her eyes.

"Please, my love, my heart only belongs to you. I beg you, tell me why you are so upset," I pleaded with her.

She took in a deep breath. "What we have is wonderful and more than I hoped for, but now that I have it, it seems to be not enough. I want more. I want to be in your world. I feel like at any moment you are going to be taken from me, either by a male who challenges you or some other problematic thing, or a female who can offer you more than I."

Taking her chin and moving it up I told her, "No one can offer me more than you have already. Please do not doubt that. And I have friends, males as well as females, who would be kind and respectful to you."

"Will I ever meet them?" she asked seeming soothed by this knowledge.

"One day I hope," I replied. Taking a deep breath I told her earnestly, "I can tell you the truth, Esme, complete and unfiltered, but if I do, then the law says you have to die or be infected. I am not ready, and I am not sure you are. Once you are infected, you might never be able to teach again, or serve on the doctor's wives committee. Every aspect of life for you will irrevocably be changed. Please know that any secrets I am keeping are my ill fought intention to keep you safe and for your happiness. I will never see Alice again if you deem it. Nothing is more important to me than you."

She smiled at me as if I was the sun that had brightened her day. "I trust you, Carlisle. Please know I did not doubt you. Truthfully, I am upset at the reality that you having this part of you hidden from me. I want to know all of you, even this."

Smiling at her, I had to admit that I liked the idea very much. "You are my one and only," I repeated to her. "Any other thoughts troubling you?"

She looked down for a long time.

In the mean time, I said nothing allowing her to find her courage.

When she did look up at me that brazen vulnerable Esme I loved asked me, "Do you find my fear dismissive?"

Shocked at her question, as it implied that I had not soothed her enough, I insisted, "Not at all. In fact, I share many of the same fears. It has been challenging to tame the demons that would ask me what men pursued you while at work, or touched you at a gala, or what harm could come to you as you procure groceries. So, no, it actually is comforting that you share similar fears to mine."

She seemed relieved even though she was frowning. "What a pair we make," she muttered as if evaluating something.

She still seemed distracted; yet, I nevertheless stated, "Esme, these fears and doubts that we speak of are what kept me from even entertaining the thought of courting you for many years. Bit by bit you have challenged me and supported me in becoming a better man. Where I used to have only logic, I now also consider my emotional inputs. Where I was only a man of science, I am in the process of becoming a man of faith. I trust you, but more than that, every moment you are not in my presence and even a few when you are I must trust our Creator to keep you safe. It is a struggle, but completely and absolutely worth it for the gifts I have received in return."

Then unable to help myself, I pressed our lips together and moved them in the way that I had learned excited her.

When our lips parted she uttered softly, "You say the sexiest things." After a brief pause, she added, "Then, I too will work at trusting and having faith." Then extended her arm and requested, "Come to bed my lover and let me touch you."

Without words I acquiesced, but did remind her before we began the time I needed to leave for the hospital. When I departed, albeit a little late, she seemed more at ease.

As the weeks passed and fall began turning into winter Alice's progress was showing in how her eyes were beginning to have amber tints. Even more impressive, she could hold clothing with a human scent without losing herself and even a garment that had some old dried blood on it.

On one of my visits Alice greeted me at our meeting spot by jumping at me and hugging me. She was so small that my neck was not at risk, making her proximity easier. As I went to remove her, she jumped back.

"Sorry, I had not checked first," she told me looking remorseful. "I was just so excited and could not wait to share my good news."

With an indulgent smile I told her, "No bother," and then asked, "What news is that?"

A huge grin spreading across her face she told me with reverence, "I saw my blond warrior and in it he was called Major." Then, her face glowing in excitement she added, "Finally I know his name."

Holding my features steady, I tried to find words to break the news to her. As each second passed she appeared more and more worried.

"I am glad you have learned more about him," I told her.

She frowned and looked at me sadly. "Out with it."

Putting my hand on her shoulder as comfort, I explained, "Major is a title like doctor. It is his rank in the military, not his name."

"Oh," she said disappointed. Then after a second she looked at me expectantly, "But that means he has a job, like you."

Considering it, there was a small likelihood that was the case, but unwilling to disappoint her once more, I offered, "Tell me about him in detail. Leave nothing out. Perhaps together we can understand the life he is living."

Her eyes lit up and she sat on the ground like I had taught her how humans sit. She started by describing his facial features, which told me nothing except that I had yet to meet him. She then described a woman that sounded to be of Spaniard descent who was called Maria, which also sounded like someone I had never heard of before. Next, she described another male, who she claimed was friends of her Major named Peter. After these were complete she grew sad. "He must be a warrior, because when a vision of him comes he is on a battlefield. He barks orders to his men and sometimes yells warnings to Maria or Peter, which is why I know their names. Last night when I saw him Peter yelled out 'behind you Major,' before returning to his fight."

Pondering her description, I asked, "Describe the battlefield."

The gruesome picture she painted of limbs and biting and fires could only mean one thing.

"Alice, I wish to tell you something, but first you must promise me that you will not seek your Major out. You will wait till your gift indicates that it will be safe," I instructed her with a stern tone.

She looked at me curiously, probably because I had never previously spoken to her in such a manner, before answering in a quiet demeanour manner, "Yes, sir."

Pursing my lips, I explained, "I suspect you are describing vampire battles for blood regions."

Her eyes got huge and she looked scared.

Hoping the information would help calm her, I described, "In other parts of the world, vampires fight each other for land, which gives them access to the humans living in that space. Human battles do not look like what you are describing. I suspect your Major is a leader of one of the bands of vampires that live in this way."

She scrunched her face before she countered, "But Maria is the leader."

"Then maybe he is the second in charge?" I offered.

She seemed to ponder this before asking, "Then why is he called Major and not his name?"

Thinking it over, I offered to her, "The most straightforward answer would be that he held the rank of Major as a human, and thus might remember that over the name his parents gave him."

Her eyes looked sad. "So, he was in the military as a human and then as a vampire."

"He might have even been changed because he was an officer," I suggested. Wanting to console her I added, "But in all these months of you seeing him he has lived and he clearly had survived whatever years before you saw him, so he must be strong and a good fighter."

Her face fell as she whispered, "Too many times when I see him, he dies, but then he makes a last-minute decision and it changes. Sometimes my sight feels like a curse. I do not like watching him by choice, as he is either training, in Maria's bed, or eating humans. Then the scenes I am given are like warnings that he is about to die, but then he does not. I like him alive, but I do not like watching."

Feeling sympathetic I told her, "I imagine that would feel pretty terrible." Wanting to offer her something more, I told her, "I am very odd for a vampire. Most vampires live their lives by fulfilling their cravings. If Maria sired him, she very possibly uses blood and sex as rewards for his wins. You might even have to see him being punished one day. Our kind can be cruel to one another in sadistic ways. I hope this is not the case, but I want you to know that what you see between your Major and Maria or even him and someone else is most likely not the same as what you might have glimpsed between Esme and myself. The acts might look the same, but the emotion and kind of bond is entirely different. I truly believe that God would not have given him to you in your sight from your awakening if he were not meant to leave and find you one day. Esme came into my life when she was 16, but we did not live together until a little over two years ago."

She smiled a little once more, but remained reserved. After a few minutes she uttered softly, "Thank you Carlisle."

"You are most welcome," I replied softly enjoying my role of mentor and helping to bring her up in the world.

She never brought him up again. Additionally, it seemed that our following conversations about Esme's and my relationship along with what I had learned the last two years regarding trusting the workings of the universe and in God's will seemed to help comfort her. Unfortunately, as I spent most of my time not with Esme with Alice, my experiments regarding how to safely have Esme become a vampire had stalled.

On a better note, Esme and I mostly settled our worries. She would occasionally enquire about Alice, but still seemed unsettled about her, despite my repeated reassurances. We spoke briefly about her extending her financial lessons, as we had reached the end about management of my accounts, but she had declined, requesting that we wait for the summer when she could focus more on the subject. It was an easy agreement.

Alice was an odd filly, often more lost in her inner eye rather than events happening around her. Over and over I perceived that my primary job as her mentor was to help her separate reality from her visions. Since Esme and my conversation, whatever hesitancy Alice had about meeting Esme ended. Ironically, Alice did not understand what had happened to alter her visions, as much as I tried to explain that Esme and I had worked on the issues that had existed between us. Alice seemed to think that her gift told her the future with more certainty than I suspected was the case. Once again she reminded me of Aro, who too thought that because of his gift he understood a person completely. Yet, I had continued to baffle him. The quote that we all see in part came to mind.

One day out of the blue Esme told me, as we lounged in the sitting room reading, "Did you know that Mrs. Lemich has been telling everyone that I am not round with your baby because I purposefully spill your seed?"

Looking up at her with concern, I answered slowly, "No, I did not know that."

"Few are willing to go against her," Esme added with a sigh.

Putting down my book, I looked at her seriously.

"Most of my friends from school have one, if not two children according to their correspondence," she went on her eyes focused on some distant object outside the window. "And apart from the principal, I am the oldest teacher at the school. I feel as if the world is on one trajectory, and I am on another. Each year that has passed I sense that am more and more not a part of the world."

I had warned her this would happen. It was an inevitable consequence of her choosing a life with me. I had not wanted it for her, but I had warned her. Did she regret her choice now that she was experiencing the true consequences?

Feeling her eyes on me she said tenderly, "None of that. I do not regret my choices for a moment. I only mention these things because I suspect that they will only get worse."

Warmed that she could read me so well, I released any feelings of regret and sorrow. Everything in life held a cost. She had counted it as had I, and we had both agreed it had been worth paying.

Focusing instead on her musings, I agreed, "It most likely will, in a way, and then, like me, I am far enough removed that I barely notice."

She nodded sagely. "You did warn me, and you are worth it. But as it is only bound to get worse, I am wondering what is the value of me staying uninfected following this school year."

My eyes jumped up; my mouth open.

"We would have to move, yes?" she pressed.

Unable to speak I simply nodded.

"And it would be a few years before we could return to a populated area?" she confirmed.

"Yes," I agreed finding my voice.

"It is what I want. I am glad for these years, but I am ready to move on. If you can make it possible, then I would like to finish up the school year, and perhaps leave the area after the summer."

"I do not know yet that I can do it without killing you," I sputtered.

"Have you made no progress with that?" she asked curious.

"In my lab, no. Truthfully, Alice has offered her help," I answered with some trepidation of how she would respond.

"Alice, huh?" she huffed.

Wanting to put whatever was disagreeable to Esme about Alice to bed and knowing Alice believed herself ready, I asked, "Would you like to meet her?"

She raised an eyebrow like she did not believe that I had offered such a thing to her.

"As I have said, she lives in the woods and is quite strange, but she has wanted to meet you," I continued on.

With a challenging tone she asked, "Is it safe?"

"We will take precautions," I told her ignoring her tone, "but enough that I am willing to risk you. You will have to do everything I say, even if it makes no sense without question or complaint."

She slumped like the air had gone out of her.

"Yes," she finally said, "I would like that."

Over the years my mind had round and round travelled similar paths regarding Esme entering the vampire world. If I could choose it, then she would remain human. But God had seen fit for me to become a vampire. If it was God's choice for me, and God's choice to have Esme be my mate, what was to say that it was not in God's will for her to be transformed? I was loathed to watch her struggle and the possibility that she might kill a human tore at my core. However, Alice's belief that Esme was fated to be a vampire seemed true. Since our wedding vows the question more and more had became not if, but when. This awareness combined with Esme's request that we move on and she be changed in the next year added fuel to my desire to learn more about venom and how it worked.

I decided that the next time I visited Alice that I would ask her to tell me everything she remembered about being bitten and turning into a vampire.

The next day that Esme worked Alice told me as a greeting, "I cannot help you, Carlisle."

"About what?" I asked confused again.

"I only remember seeing the blond man and then after, nothing before," she told me evenly while scrunching up her face like she was checking her memory.

"No worries," I replied trying to hide my disappointment, and then to distract her mentioned the possibility of Esme and her meeting.

"Oh really?" Alice asked screeching while jumping up and down.

"Remember what I said?" I asked warning her a little.

"Yes," she told me calming herself and being serious, "talk and move slow, do not mention anything about our diet, do not come near to her, hold my breath, and if it gets too much run away." Then, she broke out in a grin as if she was proud of herself.

For the first time in my long life I felt parental. It was a strange, but enjoyable feeling. Aro had often spoken about Jane and Alex in a parental form. I wondered if the sentiment was the same, since I had not sired Alice, as he had done Jane and Alex. Even though I was not Alice's sire, actively participating in her learning the world had been incredibly precious. Over time she had seemed to settle more, had begun to recognise the limits of her visions and herself, although she still put too much stock in them in my opinion, and had matured out of much of her impulsiveness. It was nice to think that I had some hand in these alterations within her.

Smiling at her pleased, I offered her some encouragement, "You will do well."

She nodded looking appreciative of my encouragement, but still nervous.

We practiced for Esme's visit until my time was up. Then, right before I left, Alice warned me, "There is a human woman who I keep seeing at the hospital. I had not said anything prior, because they were short and confusing, but yesterday it changed. In the vision you avoid her, but then a man calls you into his office and tells you 'Sorry, Cullen it's not working out'. I thought you might want to know." Alice had imitated Dr. Lemich's voice exactly.

Considering my options, I asked her, "What if I call in sick?"

Alice looked at me blankly.

Realising that her gift was based on decisions, I then made a mental decision to call in sick.

Five seconds later she told me rapidly, "She waits and then leaves. No man."

"Thanks, Alice, "I told her, "That saved me a lot of trouble."

"Trouble?" Alice asked sounding confused.

"Yes, the woman in your vision is Mrs. Lemich who wishes to cause Esme and I trouble," I tried and explained.

Seriously, she promised me, "Then I will keep watching for her."

"Thanks," I told her truly appreciative of the early warning that Alice had given me.

That afternoon I waited for Esme at her employment.

"To what do I owe the honour?" she asked.

"It seems that Mrs. Lemich is causing more trouble at the hospital. I called in sick and wanted to walk you home in case," I told her.

After a few minutes had passed she looked at me speculatively. "Alice told you?"

Sighing inwardly in defeat, I admitted, "She is a psychic and on occasion can see the future. Her gift is by no means certain, but I was unwilling to take the chance."

"And this is how she will help us?" she pressed.

"Yes," I admitted.

Mulling that over, she then said nothing more about it and instead asked, "I was thinking of purchasing some things for Alice. A bag for her things, perhaps a hair brush, and clothes. What size would you say her to be?"

"Small," I answered flummoxed.

My wife smiled at my reaction, stopped her momentum turning to me, and with her hands on her hips told me, "I need a more precise description."

After taking a moment to bring the image of Alice to my mind, I told her, "Well, she is less than five feet tall, with short black hair, and could pass for a young girl of eleven or twelve, although her maturity is of an older teen."

Esme giggled.

"What?" I asked confused.

"I could have put my fears aside months ago, if I had simply asked this question," she explained to me grinning broadly. "It is very clear that you have no attraction to her."

My shock was clear. "Esme," I chided. "Heavens no, an Uncle or even fatherly perhaps. I do wish well for her, but …" I shook my head the image disturbing. Pulling her towards me and kissing her despite who might see I reminded her, "There is no one but you. I have been reminding you of this every time Alice is mentioned. However, I am glad you laughing at my ignorance cleared your concerns, even if they were ridiculous."

"I am only afraid to lose you," she said into my shirt. "I seem incapable of rational thought when it comes to that."

"And I you," I concurred. "In fact I told Alice to stay at least fifty feet away."

Esme chuckled. "Part of your precautions?" she teased, then after a minute said more seriously, "I guess we are both irrational."

"Yes," I agreed easily.

We had an enjoyable evening touching the other and releasing in our own ways. The next evening I went to work as usual, and encountered no Mrs. Lemich, but I knew it was only a matter of time. That Saturday Esme met me at the hospital as my shift ended and we walked into the woods together like we had planned.

After about half a mile at a ridiculous slow pace, due to Esme's dress, I offered to carry her.

"Will you not get tired?" she asked.

"If I do, you can walk again," I told her not wanting to give another characteristic of my nature away.

She nodded her assent.

Pleased I enquired, "In my arms or on my back?"

"In your arms," she requested with a small smile.

Picking her up easily, I set a reasonable human pace allowing us to arrive in about an hour after setting off.

After gently placing Esme on her feet, Alice took a half-step from behind a tree. She looked at me sheepishly clearly not breathing.

"Hello, Alice," I greeted her. "This is my wife, Esme. Esme this is Alice."

Alice moved a slightly more than a foot from behind the tree and waved a little at Esme. Her motions were slow enough for Esme's vision, but really too quick to be human.

"Nice to meet you, Alice," Esme told her. "I brought you some belongings."

Alice's eyes were mostly amber with only specks of red. She was coming out of her first year and, since arriving, had only consumed one human, according to her reports anyway. Hopefully the red was too small for Esme to see, and certainly would be if Alice kept this distance.

Esme took the bag she had gotten for Alice and walked halfway between herself and Alice putting the bag down, and then came back to my side.

The whole time Alice had been frozen. Once Esme was tucked under my arm Alice nodded and with clear deliberate slowness said, "Thank you."

"You are welcome," Esme responded.

"Shall we sit?" I asked Alice.

She nodded and plopped down in a lithe movement slower than her usual, but too quick to pass as human.

Esme looked surprised, but said nothing, sitting down herself and I joined her.

After a few minutes Esme asked, "How are doing living in the forest?"

Alice paused clearly thinking and then shrugged in a deliberately slow motion.

I had told Esme that she did not remember much past a year ago, including where she was from, so it was a natural question in a circumstance such as this. Yet, it left an incredibly awkward silence.

"How about I tell a story?" I asked them both sensing that they needed help.

Alice nodded and Esme replied, "That sounds lovely, dear, thank you."

So, I told them about me growing up in England the son of a nobleman and a rector trying to make my mark in my community. I told them of chores and sneaking food out of the kitchen, of tutoring and playing with the staff's children, or learning to ride a horse and the orders of the church. It was an hour from twilight when I found a place to pause. "We need to go, Alice. Thank you for meeting Esme."

She nodded.

"It was good to meet you," Esme told Alice politely.

Alice simply nodded back.

"See you in two sunrises, Alice," I told her. Then, I picked Esme back up and carried her back to the city.

"She is a strange one," Esme commented after a while.

"She is unique," I agreed. "But that is to be expected, as she is an orphan, and she is learning."

"I wish she was comfortable enough to live with us," Esme mused. "It would be nice to take care of a kid, even if it is a teenager. It seems to me that she needs a bit of parenting and love."

The image Alice had painted of the boy I was meant to have in my life, the blond man she loved, and then adding Alice to the mix caused me to smile. Esme, young wayward nomads, and I spending our life together sounded like a perfect future, assuming Esme wanted the same thing, of course.

"I agree, my love," I told her. "Perhaps you will get to adopt after all."

Taking my last statement as a ribbing, just how I had meant it, she lightly swatted my arm.

Then after a few minutes, she asked with a serious tone, "Might there be more in need of a home and guidance?"

"Perhaps," I answered smiling. "I had never even conceived of such a thing being a possibility before you."

"Glad to be of service," she teased.

Somehow, just like that, the future seemed clearer than it ever had. My world since her arrival had turned into something completely new, and my struggles to become a man worthy of Esme had been transformed into something magical and previously inconceivable. I could easily imagine Aro shaking his head, laughing at how my life was turning out, but at this juncture I took that as a good sign. There was no melancholy in me. My life was full of challenges and struggles. More importantly, I believed to have found my true purpose, putting medicine as a vocation rather than my reason for living.

Without doubt, irrelevant of how Esme might continue to change my life, I would always be a doctor and a scientist. While at the same time, due to Esme, I had become a husband and was more and more becoming a man of faith. Esme had taught me how to trust and how to lean into the unknown. Over and over with her I had been required to step out without knowing the outcome and trust in the Divine Creator. It was scary each and every time, but simultaneously the moments after doing so had brought me peace. Like I had learned from Alice, some things are fated. I could only make the best decisions possible in the moment and then trust that He would work it out.

Even if Aro would take pleasure in the unvampire-like nature of the future Esme was painting, for the first time in my long life I felt fairly convinced that my father, God rest his soul, would be proud. Despite even his admonishments and certainty that my character would never allow it, Esme had helped me become a man of science and a man of faith. She truly was a magical creature. Thus, I was confident that he would have approved of my present path and crowned me with his highest honour: Vir Fidem.

* * *

 _A/N: There is an epilogue and then that will be all my loyal readers._

 _I hope you all enjoyed this last chapter._

 _On a personal note, I was offered some teaching work, so will not go homeless. lol It's not what I ultimately want, but it's enough for now._


	24. Epilogue

**Epilogue: The Beginnings of Living a Life of Faith**

* * *

After Alice's first warning of Mrs. Lemich, each month they became more frequent. The week before the gala Mrs. Lemich found me with a patient, which was the scenario Alice had warned me consecutively during our last two visits. She was dressed enough like a nurse to fool the patient.

"The head surgeon would like to see you," Mrs. Lemich stated authoritatively.

Nodding my head in acknowledgement, I prayed that God would provide a way out of the situation. Despite my considering possible solutions, since Alice had first mentioned Mrs. Lemich's decision, there were too many variables to have created a firm plan. First, there was the factor that it would diminish patient care to show disagreement between a nurse and myself, even if she was only pretending to be. What Alice could not have possibly known to warn me about was that Mrs. Lemich had come into a room that when leaving it and moving towards the doctor's offices would never pass a nurses' station, allowing me no witnesses, which removed most of my plans of how to remove myself from the situation. This particular location and her actions thus far left me in a quandary with patient care on one side, and my reputation along with my job on the other. For Esme's sake I wanted to keep my position until she finished hers. More than anything, the gossip would be hard for her to take.

I took as long as possible with the patient, while trying not to appear that I was doing so. When no more delays could be reasonably found, I put the clipboard at the bottom of the bed and told her, "Lead the way."

We were about halfway to her husband's office, when my ears picked up an emergency coming in and Nurse Halstead's gait moving towards me. Bending over as if needing to tie my shoe, Mrs. Lemich turned toward me. Her eyes bored into the crown of my head. Then, by the grace of God Nurse Halstead rounded the corner and I stood up.

"Dr. Cullen," she stated a little louder than usual, since I was nearly at the opposite end of the hall than her.

Moving towards her and thus away from Mrs. Lemich, I asked, "Yes, Nurse Halstead?"

"We need you straight away," she insisted.

At that moment her eyes left mine and met Mrs. Lemich. Immediately, her eyes widened in recognition.

"Excuse me," I stated to Mrs. Lemich, and then followed Nurse Halstead, as if nothing was amiss.

Near the end of the shift Nurse Halstead found me in my office. Standing outside of my office, like she usually did, she asked, "Do I need to tell your beautiful wife anything?"

Pleased that her loyalty was to Esme and her willingness to confront me, I nevertheless was shocked.

Tripping over my words some I finally managed to say, "Absolutely not. I am completely loyal to my wife. You saved me from what was bound to be a terrible conversation along with a chance of getting fired."

She frowned and looked contemplative. Under her breath she muttered, "It would not be the first time." Then looking at me and instructing me, she said, "Stay clear of her, she is nothing but trouble."

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed hastily.

She smiled just a little bit. "You are too much of a gentleman and a good doctor. I will see what I can do."

With that she turned and left me flummoxed. Upon returning home I told Esme what had happened and how Nurse Halstead had saved me.

"God does answer prayer," she reminded me in a teasing manner, and then said nothing more about it. However, her expression had been a mix between anger and fear that took a few hours to completely leave her.

When I arrived at work and went to start my rounds Nurse Halstead greeted me. "I have spoken to Dr. Lemich regarding a few new nurses that need instruction. As such, I have requested you work with them, as you have more patience for being a teacher than the other doctors on this shift. Here are your new assigned rounds."

What she handed me was completely different than what I had been doing since starting, and it kept me close to the nurses station. Fortunately, she had been correct that a few nurses needed teaching, which relieved my concern that she had lied to assist me.

When I told Esme she smiled widely and said, "That woman's a genius."

At my visit with Alice she warned me that Mrs. Lemich had decided to corner me at the Gala. Thus, even though the New Year's Gala was a great success financially for the hospital, it was exhausting for Esme. After talking over how to handle the Lemiches, we agreed to never leave each other's side. A few people began to speculate that she was with child and delicate, which was a kind way of saying that she had trouble carrying a baby. Both of the Lemiches were frustrated with us, but tried to not show it.

The following time that I saw Alice it was while Esme slept and I had a night off, so the visit was brief.

Alice greeted me clearly distressed with "A human male is going to come to your house when you're not there. Esme calls him Dr. Lemich. He hurts her."

"Thank you for the warning, Alice," I told her, and then changed the topic to more of her lessons in interacting with Esme.

In the morning I told Esme. It was almost an hour later when she replied, "You said that they believe me to be delicate and with child?"

Confirming, I wondered where her thoughts had led.

"Would hiring a maid be expected?" she asked.

Smiling broadly I told her proudly, "Your intelligence is astounding! Shall we put up an advertisement?"

She paused briefly before replying, "Can you first ask Nurse Halstead if she knows someone?"

Agreeing easily, I mentioned it to Nurse Halstead at my next shift.

She eyed me like she knew the true reason, and then after a minute told me, "Yes, I will send someone for you and your wife to interview in two days at four in the afternoon."

"Thank you," I replied, and then tacked on, "You are a Godsend."

"Well, your request is an answer to prayer, so maybe God just works in wondrous ways," she answered contemplatively.

"Perhaps," I agreed.

The teenaged girl named Sarah, whom Nurse Halstead had sent over, was quiet and had a kind temperament. We explained to the girl that Esme actually needed very little help with the housework, but needed company. With eyes that spoke of knowing the dangers women could face alone she agreed to take the job.

Esme found out that she was also illiterate, knowing only her letters, and very little mathamatics. Over the winter and spring Esme taught Sarah in academic matters and also in keeping a house like ours. The house had less dust than ever before, and Esme seemed to enjoy the company. Additionally during these seasons I took Esme, about every week or two, to visit with Alice. Alice always kept her distance, but as time went on along with my continued teaching of her, Alice was able to speak slowly enough to converse with Esme. Esme in all her glory took Alice under her wing, bringing books on how to read and write with her along with practice material. Alice and I decided to explain her rapid improvement on lots of repetition and recovering some of her memory.

It was a day in late February when I got a call from Sarah to return home immediately. Making excuses with the hospital, I came home to find my wife crying. Despite Esme's state, as there was no fresh blood in the air and Sarah was clearly bruising, I first attended to Sarah. She insisted that she did not need medical attention and left us with a heartbreaking look of empathy and sympathy. Thanking her profusely, the second the door closed I hurried to Esme and wrapped her in my arms.

It took her a while to calm herself before she told me, "He made his move when Sarah went to fetch tea. Even though I fought him, he managed to place his hand on my thigh under my skirt. Sarah came in, dropped the tray, and started to attempt to pull him away from me. He hit Sarah badly with his elbow, but she continued her attempts. Only as a results of her efforts, I was able to get away and got to the telephone. As soon as he heard me requesting the operator to send police assistance and giving my address he collected his belongings and left. I told the officers that arrived that a man had barged his way in, but had fled."

With each word she uttered my rage at him increased as well as my gratitude to Sarah.

Attempting to sound calm and assuring I begged, "May I check you?"

"Yes, please," she replied with tears rolling down her cheeks.

In her bedroom I examined her as a doctor and then requested to kiss her everywhere, which she readily agreed to. Afterwards she took a bath and then asked for me to touch her in her folds. Us enjoying each other in this way seemed to be healing for us both, although by no means repaired the wounds entirely. I spent the night laying next to her working to convince myself to allow God to handle Dr. Lemich, although it took a herculean effort. Everything within me wanted to use my vampiric advantages to terrify him into never assaulting a woman, not to mention that it would incredibly easy for me to harm him in such the right way that he would never have use of his member again.

By the time the sun rose I had decided to lean into my newfound faith trusting Dr. Lemich's future and what was coming to him to the Almighty.

Esme had barely opened her eyes when she told me with certainty, "It is time to move on, Carlisle."

"Are you sure, Esme?" I checked, although her face looked set.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin will soon begin trying to convince me to stay." Then she softened and added, "I do feel bad that it had been shorter tenor at the school than I expected, but I am ready for our life to move on."

"And the matter with Mr. Lemich?" I questioned.

"Frightening," she admitted. "At first, my thoughts were that I had failed you and invited his attack. But then I remembered your words. I fought him and told him to stop. I did nothing wrong."

"Nothing," I affirmed. "In actuality I am very proud of you. But like when I killed the kitchen thief, these moments mark us. You will likely see the world differently. Even though that is expected, I beg you to not lose your faith and belief in people. He is the exception and rare."

She nodded in agreement, even though her body still held the resemblances of fear.

When Sarah arrived that evening her bruising was very pronounced making it clear where Mr. Lemich had manhandled her.

"You saved my Esme from worse," I told her. "There is no way for me to repay you. However, as a small token of my appreciation I would like to pay for you to attend the school where Esme works and then college."

Sarah stood there her mouth agasp.

Esme who had come to join us stifled a giggle.

Eventually Sarah came out of her state and insisted, "That is too much. I only did what I thought was right."

"That might be true," I allowed, "but without you much worse could have happened. There is little I have in way to repay you except education. With an education you could become a nurse or teacher."

With tears in her eyes and her body in shock she whispered, "Yes."

"Good," I agreed, "Glad that is settled."

Kissing Esme on the cheek, I tore myself away from her side and on the way to work prayed fervently for their protection.

When I next visited Alice she was very distraught, rambling and muttering about the decisions that I had considered and dismissed regarding Dr. Lemich, as she had been unable to determine whether I followed through with any of them, and then her assumption based on them that Esme had been hurt. It took some explaining and us exploring her gift more to allow her to see that just because a person decides with certainty does not mean the event happened. Nevertheless, it was only when Alice laid her eyes on Esme did her restlessness finally abate.

It was a relief to put in my notice at work for the end of May. It gave them over three months to find a replacement. Mrs. Lemich tried once more at the hospital. Risking patient care, I told her point blank once we were in a hallway that her behaviour was appalling and suggested that she find a priest to confess her multiple transgressions to. She left my presence shamed. Never had I belittle a person in such a way, but no other option worked, according to Alice. Ultimately, what was important was that I held my vows to Esme. Dr. Lemich never tried to visit Esme again and on my last day happened to be out sick, so Dr. Costigan took care of my paperwork promising me a glowing recommendation letter, which actually arrived in the mailbox about a week later. His enthusiasms and quickness suggested that he was familiar with the Lemichs' behaviours.

Together Esme and I got Sarah set up for starting at school in September with all expenses paid and a small stipend, not unlike what we had been paying her. I spoke with Mrs. Martin about removing myself from being a trustee, and instead giving the school an endowment so that five worthy, albeit poor, girls could attend, on the assumption that Sarah was one of the five. Reluctantly she agreed, admitting that she knew I would not be swayed.

Esme and I decided to rent out the house furnished and took our personal belongings with us or placed them in a safety deposit box. Not surprisingly Nurse Halstead was able to assist in finding good tenants, and we gave her a small income to manage the property. Hopefully, in seventy years or so we could return to the area to live.

Upon Esme's insistence that she join me in my in-between life, I found a place in Newfoundland that seemed to fit the bill for her being a newborn, assuming that she survived the turning.

It was Alice actually, who had come up with the last assistance of my plan. I had been thinking about injecting Esme with my venom, and if that did not work, then I would bite her, and if I got lost in the bloodlust, then Alice had suggested that I have someone I trusted nearby to pull me off her. With a bit of help from Alice's vision, it was quickly decided that another male would be preferable, so I decided on Garrett. Alice offered to go track him down and bring him to Newfoundland.

Esme's request was that we consummate our marriage. Her argument was that since I was planning on infecting her anyway, there was no reason to not have my fluid in her. I had broken her hymen with my finger in March, a little after her encounter with Dr. Lemich. It had been an incredible act of vulnerability and courage on her part, and the sensation of being in her innermost parts in this way was transcendent. Equally joyful was that my tests regarding our previous acts meant that there were no unexpected vampiric reactions to her blood. Ever since that first time, she asked me to repeat not just touching her, but having my fingers within her regularly. It also meant that for our copulation that there was no risk of blood in this way, but I was still afraid.

After Esme's assurance that she would inform me if anything became painful or even uncomfortable, and multiple conversations of positions and such to minimize risks, I agreed to us consummating our marriage, but she had agreed to wait till we were in Newfoundland, just in case. The thing was that there was nothing more that I wanted than to be with Esme in that way, but there was so much that could go wrong. Esme had giggled at my worries and said that we could just practice more. It quickly became another instance of me leaning into my faith. Esme had yet to lead me wrong, so I trusted in her assurances, and in the Heavenly Father to keep us on the right path.

We had settled into Newfoundland, and it was halfway through October when Garrett showed up.

"It is good to see you," I greeted him once his gait had been heard. "Thank you for coming."

"I am curious," Garrett replied. "Alice did not say much, except that you needed aid. Odd one that youngling."

I smiled wistfully. "Yes," I agreed. "Did she say if she was coming as well?"

"Said she would be a few days behind me," he told me.

"That is good," I mused hoping that she would keep herself safe and out of trouble. "I took a wife," I stated, figuring that was the best place to start.

He tilted his head and took in a deep breath. "A human?" he asked shocked.

"Yes," I agreed. "I have yet to tell her, although she knows I am different. I have thus far explained that my irregularities were due to an infection."

He smiled wickedly. "You sly dog. I guess congratulations are in order."

"Thank you," I replied. His eyes twinkled and he looked at me curiously. "You mean to change her?"

"Yes," I answered, "but I have not changed anyone prior. I am afraid I will drain her instead."

"Ah," he uttered, "yes, I can see your dilemma."

"Additionally, she had requested that we copulate," I added.

He looked at me sternly. "You have not yet?"

"No," I told him. "I was uncertain if that might produce the change in her."

"Would not know myself," he told me, "although there are rumours that copulation between us and female humans is possible. However, in the stories it never ends well for the human."

Nodding sadly I agreed, "Thus the reason that I am asking for your help."

He looked at me sideways. "You love her."

"I do," I replied softly. "I discovered it to be so when I killed a man young into this life when he insulted her."

He whistled lowly. "You think she is your mate."

"I have no better explanation," I agreed.

"You are asking me to protect her from you," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes," I agreed sadly.

He came close to me and clasped me on the shoulder. "You are a good man, Carlisle. I do not envy your position, but I will assist you. After all these years, you deserve a little happiness."

"Thank you," I told him earnestly.

"Well, shall I meet your woman?" he asked jubilantly and radiating curiosity.

"Please appear human in all manner you are able," I pleaded with him.

"I will do my best," he promised, which was honest enough, but did not say much.

We walked the half mile at a human pace.

"I do not know how you tolerate the slowness, my friend," he mused.

"It is productive for a life of contemplation," I retorted.

He laughed lightly. "Except that is the life of monks, and you are a monk no more."

"I never was really a monk," I corrected him.

"True, but the occasional friendly female is not the same as wife," he responded.

"That is very true my friend," I agreed easily, refusing to dissuade his assumptions.

Opening the door slowly, I announced to Esme, "my friend Garrett has found us."

She came out of the small kitchen in an apron wiping her hands. She smiled kindly at him. "It is good to meet you Garrett."

"And you, Mrs. Cullen," he answered.

She looked at me and smiled, but she looked as if she was hiding concern behind her polite representation. I had told her Garrett would have different coloured eyes than mine, to not worry about their colour, and to not mention it to him. I would guess that it upset her more than she was letting on, or perhaps his very proximity was alerting her to danger.

"I shall return to my chores in the kitchen," she told me, then turned to Garrett. "Can I get you anything?"

He smiled making sure to hide his teeth. "No, ma'am, but thank you just the same."

Smiling once more at me, she turned and left.

Garrett turned and looked at me. "I smelt practically no fear from her."

"I told her to expect your visit," I told him trying to explain.

He nodded.

"Shall we recline in the sitting room?" I asked loud enough that she would hear.

"Yes, that would do," he replied at the same volume.

When we entered the sitting room I closed the door. "As much as I would rather not have an audience for our first coupling, I prefer to have you nearby. She is not to know you are close enough to hear us, but I would rather a lack of privacy than her dead. We have spoken about it in depth. I plan on not biting her. I would like to try to inject her instead."

"I like her," he mused seemingly ignoring my words, although certainly that was not the case.

Allowing myself to following Garrett's line of thought, a smile filled my features.

"You know I am found of fierce unconventional women," he said scowling as if my happiness had offended him.

"Your sister comes to mind," I teased.

"She was a lot of work to keep human and alive," he agreed easily. "You kept my sister alive; I will keep your woman alive, even if I have to tear you apart to do it."

"As long as you do not burn me, you have my permission to do anything you deem necessary. You trusted me with the woman you loved the most. I will trust you with the woman I love the most."

"Fair enough," he retorted with a gleam in his eye that I suspected had to do with his wish that he would get a chance to tear at me. He had never liked the pain his sister had endured in order for me to heal her, even though it had been necessary.

"In a few days would be good," I told him.

Looking puzzled, he asked, "why not now?"

Sighing in resignation that he would know more about Esme and I than I would have ever wanted someone to know, I answered, "It is easier on me when her scent is less concentrated."

He nodded like that made sense. After a few moments he admitted, "I admire you Carlisle. They are very breakable. I do not know how you have managed it."

"It is not without great self-control and will power," I told him.

"You know I do not take much care of the state of those I kill. I cannot imagine the restraint," he admitted.

"You are a good man, Garrett, and your sister was lucky to have someone as devoted as you. How are her children?"

His eyes sparkled in glee. "There are so many that I have begun to lose track of them. A few have ventured west in hopes of success." Then, his eyes dropped. "I still tend to her tombstone. I miss her, but after her youthful adventures she lived a good life. I prefer that she saw me as her saviour than the person that she grew to resent."

Nodding along with him, I knew this was the case. Each time he spoke of her he talked about missing her, but being glad that he had not turned her, although I knew he was very tempted to many times, simply to keep her with him.

"Your fear must be great, my friend," he mused.

"I have feared nothing greater," I agreed. Hearing Esme approach I told him, "please gale us with one of your stories."

He smiled with a combination of indulgence and mischievousness, waited for Esme to be near the door, and then began, "I was travelling and came upon the most peculiar man …"

His stories usually ended on how he helped or ended whomever he had encountered. Hopefully this story ended with the man being helped, as I did not want to frighten my Esme any more. That night as she lay on my arm, her arm and leg draped upon my body, she whispered in my ear, "He has a way about him that is charming, but dangerous."

"Yes," I agreed as I turned more towards her. "He is a good man, but dangerous. Most of my friends are the same. They, generally, mean no harm, but if anyone were to go against them, they would not hesitate to end the danger."

"Like you did that one time?" she asked musing.

"Yes," I agreed.

"The infection makes a person more dangerous?" she asked uncertain.

"In a way," I answered loathed to lie. "Truthfully, what makes a person dangerous is what is in his or her heart, but since the infection makes a person stronger and impervious to disease, many with the infection see themselves superior and abuse others. Garrett is not like that. He is a good man, if not too much of a bachelor at times. You have already won him over, my wife. He promised to be your champion," I told her teasingly.

"He did?" she asked cheekily.

"Yes," I told her slightly frowning wishing that I was able to be with my wife in the way she wished without the precautions, but I was not willing to risk her, despite my discomfort.

"You are love and wanted," I reminded her.

She kissed my cheek and then closed her eyes to sleep. The next few days Alice did not show and we spent time with Garrett allowing him to tell more stories of his travels and us sharing with him our courtship. He seemed to genuinely enjoy Esme's company.

"I am going to go get something, so in case her blood is flowing I do not need to leave you," Garrett told me knowing as well as me that her scent has lessened in its intensity.

"See you soon?" I wondered.

"Yes, I will not be gone long," he let me know.

The whole day as Esme and I went about reading and enjoying each other's company I made sure to touch her and tease her slightly.

When she ate dinner she asked me suddenly, "Will it hurt like when you broke my barrier?"

"I am not sure," I answered honestly. "I would presume not, but on the other hand you will be using parts of yourself you never have before. I have often heard women describe being sore."

"Despite our conversations and precautions, you are afraid," she stated, once more demonstrating her incredible insight into me.

"And loathed to hurt you in any way," I confirmed.

After many thoughtful minutes she told me, "I suppose this is the cost of being a woman. We have cramps and are sore." Placing her hand on me and assuring me, she told me, "You will be gentle and make the experience as pleasant as possible. Please know my husband that I am asking for us to be joined in this way. I implore you to attempt to put your worries aside."

Looking down and breathing out deeply I admitted, "I apologise my darling that I cannot met your wish. I love you too much not to worry at least some. It is simply within my nature."

Nodding she finished her dinner, washed the dishes, and then came back to me. "Come, my lover," she encouraged me. "Show me what wondrous things you can do with your fingers."

Smiling at her playfulness, I allowed her to lead me into our bedroom. As had become our custom, we slowly undid the other's clothes. For the first time I placed her skin in my mouth. It was the space along her neck right under her ear, but she moaned like it was pleasant.

"Was that all right?" I checked before continuing.

"Yes," she told me groggily with her eyes closed. "Again," she pleaded.

Placing her gently on the bed, for the first time I licked and sucked all different parts of her, being careful that I did not use any greater strength than I had come to know well for when we were together. After a few hours and us both releasing, she first and me second, she fell asleep, as our activities had clearly exhausted her. A part of me was worried, but another part of me was filled with pride. After using a hand towel to wash her and placing her under the covers, I watched her closely. Even though I had tried my best to limit the amount of venom that I had placed on her skin, I had no idea what would happen, as my experiments over and over had been inconclusive.

After a few hours of her resting Garrett entered the house, initially staying in the front area.

"She would have started the change by now," he stated coming into our room, but standing in the doorframe.

"Yes," I agreed. "I am often irrational when it comes to her."

He grunted saying nothing more. After another hour had passed he said softly, "Her trust in you is incredible. It is like watching a lamb willingly lie and trust a lion. Her trust in you is so abounding that she trusts me simply because you said so."

"Yes," I agreed softly. She was remarkable.

"Do you think she would have a more natural response if she were to come across one of us unexpectedly?" he pondered.

"Yes, I suspect so. She hides it well, but both with meeting Alice and meeting you she was scared. It is there, she just stops the response, I suspect, by reminding herself of my trust in Alice and you."

"My eyes bother her," he mused.

"Yes, I suspect so. There is much about me that I do not speak about. We have an understanding. She does not ask, but she has a keen intellect. It would not be hard to figure out that the colour of your eyes mean something sinister."

"Yeah," he said softly. "I do not wish for your diet, Carlisle. It does not suit me. I enjoy taking the life of those who would try to enslave others."

"You are a good man, Garrett," I concurred. "I told her as such."

He huffed disliking my comment. "Just doing the best I can with what I was given."

"Are not we all?" I asked.

After many long minutes of silence he answered, "Most, perhaps, but after all these years watching humans and vampires, I suspect that some enjoy feeling powerful and causing others pain. I do not know how you heal those who cause harm to others as equally as those who are harmed."

"It is the oath I took," I told him.

Fortunately instead of beating a dead horse, he changed the subject. "Are you going to tell her soon?"

"My intention is to tell her shortly before her requested date of transformation. Our physical intimacies might change that, and she knows the risks. If that happens, then I will explain. I do not wish to violate the law," I pressed upon him.

"You are dancing on the line, my dear friend," he warned.

"I know," I replied with a resigned sigh.

"Aro might not be as generous with your choices as I," he pointed out.

"I suppose that depends on whether or not she figured it out," I agreed defeated.

"What does she know?" he asked.

"Increased sense capacity, that I turn to stone when surprised, that I am cold, and that I do not age like humans. She probably also knows that my heart does not beat, although she has never said so. She also knows that I am not human."

"Speed?" he wondered.

"Strength above humans, but no not speed, although," I added after a pause, "Alice might have accidentally done some behaviours to give her hints about that."

"Blood?" he checked.

"No," I replied firmly.

"It is a clever lie," he stated. "It is a misdirected truth. A disease that makes us other," he mused. "Sunlight?"

"No," I stated. "She has told me on occasion that I glow as if I was the manifestation of God on earth, though."

He laughed lightly trying not to wake her. "A son of a pastor becoming a physical manifestation of God on earth. Whatever would your father say?" he teased.

"That she was a heretic deserving to be burned at the stake," I answered sadly.

"Then let us be glad he never met her," he replied.

I did not respond, as I was torn about his comment. On one hand, like I had told the priest on the day we were married, I wished for my father to have approved of my bride, and I believed that he would be proud of me living a life of faith, which I owed in greater part to Esme. On the other hand, Garrett was probably correct.

"She is well?" Garrett asked with some concern.

Taking in a deep breath, then lifting the covers and looking her over I concluded, "Yes, it would seem that human skin is able to keep the venom from the bloodstream."

"Perhaps the blood is protected in some way?" he pondered.

Thinking about human anatomy from Garrett's perspective brought me to conclusions I had not previously considered. "I think you are right, Garrett. The blood lives in a closed circulatory system. If she swallowed venom, then perhaps it would get to her blood through the digestive system, but otherwise, I suspect that you are correct."

"Will she bleed when you take her?" he asked in a way that I knew that he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Nevertheless, I could not help the warning growl that came from my chest. "I did not mean to be disrespectful, friend," he said softly and with reproach.

"I know. I told you I am not rational about her," I reminded him with a sigh.

"Well?" he pressed clearly wanting his question answered, despite the indelicacy in how he had worded it.

"There should not be," I replied with a sigh hating having to talk about my wife in such a way, but knowing that is what I was going to have to do when I invited him. Garrett was a nosy chap, especially when he meant well.

Garrett said nothing more and I settled in next to Esme pleased that she had not been harmed and that our activities had not turned her.

"Perhaps that is why the myths always stated the human was a virgin. The humans' pain and death was a result of the blood and the venom produced at the male's release," Garrett mused hours later.

It was just like him to say something random like that. Whether it was his intention or not, his words soothed me. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation. It matched human anatomy, what Aro had explained about vampire anatomy, and what has resulted with Esme today. The thought that only my strength could harm her left me greatly relieved.

"Thank you," I told him after many minutes had passed. "I was loathed to ask anyone to help, to bring someone near her, to have someone know us like this, but I am glad and grateful nonetheless Garrett."

"Once she is turned, my debt to you will be repaid," he informed me.

"You were never in my debt, Garrett," I corrected him. "You have only been a friend."

"Nevertheless," he answered not needing to say anything more.

I wondered what was taking Alice so long to return, but said nothing more about it, choosing to have faith in her ability to keep herself from harm and in God to assist her.

A few hours later when Esme began to awaken Garrett moved himself back out to the living area. Once her eyes were on me I asked her concerned, "How do you feel?"

"Blissful," she replied with a huge grin. "Shall we repeat the experiment to ensure results," she teased.

Smiling widely myself I replied, "Yes, after you have eaten. Will you be all right for a little while? I was thinking of going on a hike for an hour or so, and was going to drag Garrett with me."

"I shall bathe and eat while you are gone," she told me kissing me on the lips and then getting out of bed, putting on her robe, and heading for the washroom.

Getting up and dressing for hunting, I then left the bedroom. "Come on Garrett. We are going hiking," I told him with a snicker.

He grumbled, but said nothing. "Shall we race?" I offered once we were far enough from the house that Esme would not be able to see us.

He smiled and then took off. When I caught the scent of come caribou I changed course and went after my meal. When the animal was drained I saw Garrett standing there in the distance.

"Race back?" he asked playfully.

This time I took off hoping the head start would help me. Even though were fairly matched in speed, he often out manoeuvred me and would win. As we neared the house and slowed Garrett came up beside me.

Clasping him on the shoulder I told him, "Thank you for being a good friend."

He nodded, but said nothing. We came close to the house when he slow slightly. "I think I will stay out here and in the trees."

Nodding at his wisdom, I went into the house without him and found Esme in the sitting room reading. "Better?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you," she replied.

"Sore anywhere?" I asked checking.

"No," she answered with a huge grin. "Are you ready for experimenting again?" she teased.

"Yes," I answered with a grin of my own.

I doubted that I could ever get enough of her, but I always wanted it to be on her schedule.

As we undressed and she began to lick and suck different parts of my neck, chest, and arms she told me, "This time let us join together, Carlisle."

Unable to speak, feeling incredibly grateful for her offering herself to me and taking this risk, I simply nodded. She pushed me onto the bed and positioned herself on top of me like we had agreed. I held my forearms under my head so that I would not be tempted to grab onto her and even accidentally bruise her. Perhaps next time we could do more, but this is what we had together decided was safest.

At first she repeated on my chest what she had done to my back many times. Her fluids were spilling onto me and occasionally seeping into me. Inch by inch she moved down my body, and then positioned us so that she lay on top of me and my member rested near her opening. Then slowly and with good use of the instructions I had given her, she moved me into herself. Every couple of centimetres she would stop and simply lay on top of me once more. The heat from her and the pleasure she gave me even in these small motions was greater than I had anticipated. With great strength I stifled a growl that signalled my desire for more. She must have felt the vibration because she lifted herself and raised her eyebrow.

"I simply want you so very much," I admitted hoping she would accept my explanation.

Eventually she managed me to be almost entirely in her. Then, she moved back and forth on top of my body like she had done moaning and groaning as she went. When words were capable, I tried to whisper sweet words of encouragement to her, but mostly I tried to hide my inhuman reactions from her, particularly the hissing and growling that wanted to break forth, and after some time was forced to clench my jaw shut, so that I would not accidently bite her.

Her slow pace meant that it took quite an amount of time for her to reach her peak. As she did and clenched around me, I poured myself into her, and a sound I had never heard came from my chest. If she had not been so exhausted and practically asleep on top of me, she would have noticed. I could not name the sound, but knew I had never been more content in my life. Closing my eyes, I allowed the feeling and her heat to wash over me. When she began to shiver I pulled the blankets on top of her. Shortly after Garrett came in to the house and added to the fire.

I was jubilant at our success.

We spent the next couple of days in each other's embrace, exploring slowly different ways to be with each other. Her ovulation was coming up, but as the days passed, she did not smell as she would have normally, and her scent had unusual tones.

While Esme had bathed and eaten, Garrett and I had gone hunting once more.

"There is something wrong," I told Garrett after my prayer had been offered for the life I had taken.

He looked at me strangely like I had lost my mind. "She has not begun the change," he refuted.

"No, it is not that," I stated. "Each human woman's scent fluctuates through the month with her cycle," I said.

He nodded for me to go on.

"I have lived with this woman for almost four years now. I know her scent and how it changes throughout the month well, especially as I have used it to mark when would be easiest for me to control myself," I tried to explain. Looking at him earnestly for him to believe me I repeated, "there is something wrong."

"Shall you examine her?" he asked gently clearly trying not to upset me.

I nodded abruptly disliking the idea, but having no others.

When we returned I found Esme throwing up. "What is it?" I asked her.

"I do not know," she answered. "I do not feel well."

After wiping her mouth and cleaning her up, I scooped her into my arms. Laying her in bed I told her, "I am going to examine you to see what is wrong."

She groaned, but nodded her agreement. After a full physical I could find nothing particularly wrong, except her scent.

"Rest my love," I told her as she closed her eyes.

Finding Garrett I warned him, "I am going to draw some blood and then go far enough away to sample it, since I have no answers."

"Have you before?" he asked astonished.

"Yes," I answered. "It was one of the experiments I conducted in preparation."

His mouth hung open.

"I had her permission to take her blood and study it," I tried to explain.

"Surely you never mentioned your method of study," he questioned.

"No," I agreed. "Please guard her," I pleaded. "Alice might return and she is still young."

"I will," he vowed.

Nodding, I went back into our room. Waking Esme I told her, "Darling I need to take a sample of your blood."

"Of course, Carlisle," she replied.

"Do you need anything?" I pressed her.

"Sleep and water, please," she requested.

After retrieving a glass of water, helping her sit up, and sip some, I tucked her back under the covers. Then, I returned with my medical bag.

"I am going to prick you now Esme," I said to warn her as much as Garrett.

Putting the needle in, I quickly did the procedure, swiped the spot, and bandaged it. Leaving the house with Garrett standing like a statue at the front door, I ran for miles. When I hoped that I was far enough away from her I opened up the container of her blood, placed a drop of it on my finger, and then placed the finger in my mouth. With all the effort I could muster I focused on cataloguing all the elements of her blood especially on electrolytes and hormone levels hoping the taste would tell me more than her scent had. Then, I lifted the blood to my nose and took in a large breath.

Without thought I downed the rest of the contents and went rushing towards the source. As if God was with me once more, I came across a herd and took down a buck. When my mind cleared enough I roared in frustration and pain. I wanted her so much, every part of me wanted her. I felt like a caveman desiring to find a woman, knock her over the head, and drag her back to my cave and do whatever twisted demented thing that has ever been done. Falling to my knees, I wept holding myself trying to remember my father's teachings about being a gentleman and that all men harbour a desire to be a brute. I had been determined to be a gentleman all my long life, and I would be still, even if the desire to be a brute was stronger than I ever recalled it being.

Going back to where I had been, I made a fire and burned anything that her blood had touched. To calm my inner turmoil I sat in the forest, took deep breaths, and brought up the taste of her sweet ambrosia that I had just consumed and compared it to when I had done so before. Then, I did the same with the smell of her blood. The exercise had flamed my throat, so I decided to hunt purposefully this time. The blood was immensely helpful. Feeling ready to be near Esme once more, I changed direction and ran back to her. As I came close to the house, I heard Alice and Garrett arguing.

"I have to check. She was black. Carlisle was black. Sometimes my Major is black, but then he comes back. They did not come back. I have to check." Then Alice would repeat the same sentences.

"Here I am," I told Alice.

"You were black and I was in New York looking at clothes, so I could tell if it was time to go meet him, and I had your money, so I thought I would get something nice for Esme, but then you were black and Esme was black, and I had to go slow and wait and not rush all the way from the shops till I was outside of New York, so I could run. But all those humans made me thirsty and I had to get something, and you were still black, and," with that and a huge sob she ran for me and flung herself at me.

"I am okay, Alice, calm yourself," I instructed her.

After taking in a deep breath, like my scent comforted her, she backed up off me. "I heard a roar and I saw you sobbing, so I knew you were okay, but Esme is black, and this thug," she said while waving at Garrett, "will not let me pass."

"Alice," I warned putting my hands on her shoulders, "Garrett is guarding Esme. Remember I sent you to ask him to come help with Esme."

She looked sheepish. "Oh, yes, I remember, now." Turning to Garrett she looked at her toes. "I am sorry Garrett. I was so upset that I forgot."

Garrett looked at me over the top of Alice's head like Alice forgetting who he was the most asinine thing he had ever heard.

I simply nodded to Garrett unsure of how to explain Alice's oddities.

"Esme is unwell, Alice, you are correct about that. And I am proud of you for going to New York, and being able to see the clothes there without exposing yourself."

She smiled up at me like me being proud of her meant the world.

"Do you remember what we talked about? That what you see can be confusing and to gather information before you jump to conclusions?"

She nodded frowning.

"Listen with your ears," I instructed her. "Can you hear the heartbeat that is unique to Esme?"

"Yes," she agreed embarrassed.

"So, what did you learn?" I asked her forcing her to think things through.

"That even though you were black that you are not harmed, and that Esme is black, but is alive."

"That is right," I encouraged her. "I am frustrated by the situation," I explained to her, "and worried about Esme."

Alice nodded like she agreed with my sentiments.

"And Garrett can be trusted," I added.

"I am sorry," she told him once more.

"You will learn little one," he told her.

"I am going to share what I learned. Can you handle that, Alice?" I checked.

"Uh-huh," she muttered and closed her eyes, then gasped.

I looked at her sternly to warn her to wait.

She looked down pressing her lips together.

Garrett watched our exchange puzzled.

I shook my head and gave him a look that hopefully he understood meant that I would explain later.

"Esme's scent changed in a way that is unusual for her. The alterations suggested something that should be impossible, so I took a blood sample to examine. It was even more potent than it has been in the past. Unfortunately, all the evidence points in the same direction," I stated with a sigh.

"Well, out with it," Garrett demanded.

"I think she is pregnant," I said simply.

His eyes grew large. "Carlisle," he uttered in warning. "The stories."

"I know," I answered defeated. "I cannot lose her, Garrett."

Looking at me sternly, he told me his voice heavy, "They might know."

"I know," I agreed.

"You are the only one who could seek an audience," he pointed out.

"I will not leave her," I countered.

"A letter by nomadic post?" he pondered.

"Across the ocean?" I questioned.

"Word of mouth?" he suggested.

"Highly unreliable," I disagreed.

"What if I got close enough to find a guard to relay the message?" he offered.

"Are there other options?" I asked knowing that there was not.

"Wait and see," he said with a sigh. "I could be back in about ten days," he added after a heavy pause.

"I do not want to put you in danger, Garrett," I told him earnestly.

"I can manage myself," he replied.

Looking at my friend, I felt overwhelmed.

"You could always terminate it," Garrett said sadly.

"I shall speak to Esme," I replied after a moment's thought. Naturally, I did not want to lose Esme, but to ask a woman to abort her foetus was no light matter.

He put his hand on my shoulder. "I cannot imagine the pain you feel in this moment or the difficulty of what you did for her, but I admire your strength for your endurance and what you are willing to do. You are a good husband, my friend."

Looking into his eyes, I knew he was attempting to encourage me. Without doubt he had heard my cries of agony.

Turning to Alice, I heartened her, "Tell me your tales. How did you manage a shop?"

She smiled slightly. "Holding my breath and focusing on the fabrics rather than the humans. There was this one store," she continued and although my ears picked up the words, my brain did not digest them.

When I heard Esme's heartbeat begin to change I looked at Alice interrupting her. "Please stay here with Garrett and warn me of any danger."

She nodded seriously and stood next to Garrett in nearly the same pose as him, although with her petite size it was not nearly as intimidating.

Smiling at her form and exchanging a knowing look with Garrett, I walked into the house and lay next to Esme.

When Esme's eyes opened she frowned. "What is wrong?" she asked softly.

"I have news and I am worried for you," I told her.

She nodded and prepared herself for what I was going to say, not entirely in a different manner than she had at sixteen and I had operated.

"I do not know how it is possible, because it should not be, but you are pregnant," I informed her.

Her mouth dropped open and she blinked rapidly.

Stilling I waited for her to speak.

"But you said," she retorted.

"Clearly, in our case, I was wrong," I said honestly.

"It is so early. Are you sure?"

"Fairly," I answered.

"Why is this such a worry?" she asked looking confused.

"I am not human, Esme. Even though we have never spoken the details about it, you know this. My concern is that I have no idea what would be made that is half you and half me. There are stories, myths, and in them the women die brutally. I cannot lose you," I vocalized.

She pressed her lips together. After many long minutes she asked me, "If I were to die, and you were to die, and nothing remained but this offspring, would it be worth our lives?"

Looking at her, I tried to wrap my mind around her question. Was a possible son or daughter worth my life, Esme's life?

"It is hard to say, Esme. I am selfish enough to want you more than anything, but this is the normal way of life, is it not? Two individuals produce an offspring and give everything for that life?"

"Maybe there is a way not to give everything," she mused.

"How?" I asked.

"I do not know, Carlisle, but look at the impossibility of us being in a relationship. You said there has never been a couple like us. Yet, we have defied the odds. I know your infection changed you from human into something else, but at the same time still human. You cannot be a separate species from me, because if you were, we could not reproduce. I understand your fear. I too am afraid. But perhaps instead we should hope."

"I have friends from Italy that I lived with for a while that are very knowledgeable, but they are also the law enforcers. Asking them for help gives us the best chance, but also creates the greatest risk," I told her honestly.

"Have we broken the law?" she asked curious.

"As close to the line without actually breaking it," I told her.

"Ask them for help," she decided. "If we are going to risk it, then we have little to lose and much to gain by their support."

"If that is your wish," I told her.

"It is," she replied determined.

"I will return as quickly as possible," Garrett promised at a tone Esme could not possibly of heard.

"Godspeed," I replied at the same tone.

"You know I am always up for a little adventure," he replied with a smile in his tone as he could be heard running east towards the ocean.

Turning to Esme, I told her, "Well, since you are pregnant keeping food down might be hard, but you must try. Whatever sounds good to you I will acquire it for you, and lots of liquids."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Cullen," she teased.

"Alice is here," I told her.

"Shall I get dressed then and entertain her in the sitting room?"

"And I shall make you something to eat," I agreed, hoping doing so would improve her mood. "What would you like?"

After a moments thought she told me, "Eggs with toast sounds good."

"Coming up," I told her kissing her forehead. "How would you like your eggs?"

"Scrabbled with salt."

"Your wish is my command," I told her as I left. Going to the front door, I ushered Alice in. "Please, Alice, very slow. She is weak and unwell."

Alice frowned, but nodded sitting in the seat furthest away from where Esme usually sat.

After the girls had settled and Esme had eaten her breakfast I stood outside the door taking deep breaths and trying to calm my nerves.

This turn of events would without doubt be our ultimate test. Reminding myself that whether we lived or perished was in God's hands, I decided to trust Esme and have faith. As I thought over my life and all that had been bestowed upon me, I decided that even if it did result in both Esme and my demise, it would be worth it. She was worth it. Every moment with her, every exploration, every risk she requested had been worth it. Living a life of faith was not about things going the way I wanted, or even hoped for, it was about living my life openly without fear. On top of that, with the deaths of hundreds of thousands I had witness passing through my mind, I concluded there were far worse things to die for.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you each of you for following this crazy story._

 _Without kiwihipp and her hard work this story would have never been birthed._

 _It has been an honour, and I would not be a writer without you._


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